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Contractility revealed
Journal of
Molecular and Cellular Cardiology Volume 4
Number 3
June 1972
EDITORIAL Contractility
Revealed
Once upon a time and in a far country there lived a King. He was neither wise nor foolish nor again particularly virtuous, but, after centuries of national tranquill&y, Providence had determined that it should be on his crowned head that catastrophe should fall. The year which we are now considering had been one of crisis. For a long time the country had existed on an annual tribute from a neighbouring nomadic people known as the Nihgrants, but this year the Nihgrants had refused to pay. The country faced utter ruin. In such national adversity men and kings turn alike to religion for guidance. For a thousand years the people had worshipped the heart. The religion was a gentle one, administered by an ascetic group of priests revered under the title of Cardiologists. Their creed was simple, stating first that the heart was the lifeforce of the body and second that there existed a divine essence which was the life-force of the heart. This latter was given the name “contractility”, the essence of the essence of life. To all who had studied the holy books it was clear that in the discovery of “contractility” lay the key to the danger both spiritual and temporal which beset the kingdom. But how to discover it? The King called a meeting of the Cardiologists to consider the matter. A number of conflicting views had been given when an elderly Cardiologist, and a founder member of the international society, at last spoke-or, rather, started to speak. “Where is contractility?” he began. “I will tell you . . . ” “There is no need to,” interrupted a quiet voice from outside and through the pillared doorway stepped a maiden with wisps of straw in her hair. “I am that which you seek.” “We think you may well be,” said the King, letting his eye rest perhaps a shade too long on her youthful form, “What is your name, my child?” “My parents called me Dippy Ditty,” said the girl, “but others have called me Contractility.’ ’ “And do you believe that you are the impersonation of contractility?” asked the King. “Many have said that I am,” said she, ‘(but I believe I have been sent only 14
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to show the way to contractility and the fulfilment of the good life”. Then she added, “I think men usually misunderstand me”. “I don’t,” muttered the Queen. But the King asked: “Can you show us where we can find Contractility, then?” “I think I can, Sire, if you would but trust me.” And it was thus that the King, together with a small band of young but devoted cardiologists and led by Dippy Ditty, rode through the realm in search of Contractility, the essence of the essence of life. After many weeks they came to a castle and found that it belonged to the Lady Elastic. In a short time the lady herself appeared, descending an immense spiral staircase. She curtsied low in front of the King. “Lady Elastic,” began the King. “Call me Cerise, your Highness,” replied the languid lady with a serpentine movement of the body. “Lady Cerise Elastic,” began the King again. And at this moment he became aware of the unusually red shade of her skin from which possibly she had derived her name and which (erroneously as it happened) suggested to him some North American origin. At the same instant his regal and sensitive eye observed a distinctly antipathetic crossing of eyebeams between Cerise Elastic and Dippy Ditty. “But you two ladies already know each other!” he exclaimed. “We are distantly related, Sire,” replied Cerise Elastic, “but she affects not to recognize me.” Sensing an ugly turn to the conversation, the King changed the subject, enquiring immediately whether the Lady Elastic could direct him to Contractility. Her face paled to a light pink. “Alas, for the many brave young knights who have left in the morning with that word on their lips and lost their reason before nightfall! Stay here with me!” she cried, her arms stretched toward him and her more-than-ample bosom vibrating with anguish. “Life here is warm and yielding, cushioned against the shocks of the world.” “We must get on,” said Miss Ditty drily and the King, his inner vision called back to the sterner duties of the crown, nodded assent. Cerise Elastic dried her tears and proceeded to draw a map. “The way is simple,” she said. “You will find it in any of the holy books. Here is the path”-and she pointed to a zig-zag line-“It passes up the Ayvey Hill.” “At the top of the hill you will find a box.” She drew a simple rectangle to represent it. “Inside the box is Contractility.” The party moved on its way along the path which zig-zagged up the side of a steep hill covered with bracken. It was a sunny day and their spirits were high. When they reached the top they found a simple black box lying in the sun. On it was written ‘Contractile Element”. Without hesitation, the King grasped the
EDITORIAL
181
lid in both hands and swung it open on its hinges. They all looked into the dark depths of the box, their eyes blinded by the bright sun outside, At last at its bottom they could see a piece of dusty paper. The King reached down for it and brought it into the sunlight. Three words were written on it: “Gone to lunch.” The party sat down on the grass in the hot sun. After an hour there was a rustling in the neighbouring bracken and into the open came a snake. It writhed its way swiftly toward the box and started to coil up in it when the King, not sure whether it was incumbent or intruder, stood up and addressed it. “Who are you? What are you doing in that box?” To everybody’s surprise it was the tail which replied. “My name, 0 King, is Sin. I live here.” “But does not this box belong to Contractility? Where is Contractility, you wicked Sin!” “That is a weighty question,” said Sin. “You had better discuss it with the heavy end. Hey! Myo!” At this the head end of the beast rose swaying above the edge of the box. “Myo,” Sin said, “here are some more people asking about Contractility.” “Tell them it doesn’t exist,” hissed the head. “You blasphemous Myo!” thundered the King. “Tell us where we can find Contractility, the essence of the essence of life!” A crafty look came into the serpent’s green eye. “In truth, Sire, I do not know the answer to your question, but I think you should ask ATP. He at least knows where the power lies.” “And where shall we find this ATP?” asked the King. “Look yonder,” said the beast “at the holy mountain of the Aani Cats. In its sheer side is a cave and in the dark depths of its mitochasm you will find ATP.” And suddenly he hissed with secret pleasure. “And the best of luck!” he shouted after them. They hurried on, chattering with renewed excitement and oblivious of the malevolent Myo, toward the dark hole in the side of the mountain. The way ended in a huge slope of scree which slowed their pace and left little breath for amiable chatter. But there were other reasons for the silence which now fell upon them. As they came nearer, the black hole took on an increasingly forbidding appearance. From time to time a wisp of blue smoke could be seen curling out from the opening and a faint smell of burning replaced the sweet and alluring scent of the sun on the bracken. And what at first had seemed the innocent rumble of a distant waterfall presently took on the character of the snoring of some gigantic beast. At last they stood trembling in the mouth of the cave from which the rhythmic and terrible rumble emerged. Deep in the infolded darkness of the mitochasm they were aware of an area of misty blue light. The King led the way boldly towards it shouting “ATP! ATP! Are you there? We want to speak with you.”
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EDITOR=
His voice echoed thinly in the deep cavern, but in an instant the rumbling ceased and some vague movement was occurring in the region of the blue light which grew gradually larger and nearer. Soon the terrifying truth was apparent as the blue light took upon itself the phosphorescent outline of an immense dragon. Frozen with fear they crouched against the wall of the cave as the beast drew near. A few yards from them it stopped and opened a hideous mouth from which fire and words were exhaled. “Who are you! By what right do you disturb me?” “We are looking for ATP,” faltered the King, “We were sent here by a serpent whose name we have forgotten-the front end of a serpent whose name we have forgotten, who lives in a black . . . ” “I am ATP,” thundered the dragon. “What do you want of me?” “We are seeking Contractility, the essence of the essence of life.” There was a pause. “I am the essence of the essence of life,” shouted the dragon and the hot flames of his breath dragged the enzymic bats screaming from the roof of the cave, “Who told you otherwise?” The King cast a long and pregnant glance sideways at Dippy Ditty. Finally he said, “We have been told by all our most learned Cardiologists that Contractility is the essence of the essence of life and this is why we seek him.” “He’s a myth,” roared the dragon, “a mythical beast.” The King swallowed a hasty and obvious reply. “Then we shall disturb you no further,” he said and turned to go. “I’m hungry,” said the dragon and moved swiftly between the royal party and the exit. “We have a friend called St. Georgie,” said the King with the calmness that comes with desperation. The beast paused. The words had not been without effect. “If St. Georgie comes here again,” he muttered, “I’ll give him a bit of my terminal bond,” and he lashed his tail, sending blue sparks into the darkness and a suffocating smell of burning phosphorus. He paused again, looking round at the group. “You, you, you and you and you can go,” he said, “This one I shall keep,” pointing to the King. “If you bring me Contractility, dead or alive, I shall return the hostage.” And with a hideous roar he bore the King down into the depths of his grisly cave. We shall pass over the long and perilous journey home and the anguish of a loyal citizenry when it heard the fate of its King. The elders of the International Society called an immediate and extraordinary assembly with an appropriate opening ceremony attended by half the crowned heads and cracked cardio-pots of the civilized world. But all the ceremonial dinners, brass bands, fireworks and pilgrimages in charabancs to important places which accompanied the assembly failed to shed any light on Contractility.
EDITORIAL
183
Now at this time there appeared in the city two wise men, Wiemax and PeeZereau, adopted sons, it was said, of the legendary Blick. It was not long before their opinion in the matter of the King was sought. “Humans store gold,” said Wiemax, “Dragons store chalk. Take away his chalk and ATP will be weak as a baby.” “I shall return at once,” said Dippy Ditty. “Who will come with me?” The silence which followed told of the hardships of the journey and the fearsome danger at its end. It was at last broken by Pee-Zereau. “We shall come with you, my child” he said, his glance flickering briefly in the direction of Wiemax. And so Dippy Ditty, accompanied by the old men, returned the long journey across the width of the kingdom until one day she stood again outside the terrible cavern. Night was falling, but they determined to enter the cave at once. The bats were stirring. From the depth came the ghastly rhythmic rumble, terrifying but also reassuring since it told them the beast was sleeping. Wiemax led silently along the cave. After a while he stopped, peering at something on the left-hand wall. “Here we are!” he whispered. “The Strong Room!” and to confirm his conject,ure the letters “S.R.” could now be seen on a low door set into the wall. “How do we get in?” asked Dippy Ditty, her eye on an enormous lock. “We haven’t got . . . ” The words froze in her throat, for at that instant the snoring ceased. For a few seconds there was a snuflling sound and then a roar of rage as the beast, recognizing the scent, came stumbling up from the blue depth. “Quick! The sodium flux!” shouted Pee-Zereau and, taking a bag from Wiemax, he squeezed its contents into the lock. The result was cataclysmic. Some vast force appeared to develop in the cave and a gigantic flash of yellow lightning struck the keyhole. As the explosion died away the door swung open. Wiemax dashed in and dragged out a heavily laden sack. “Quick! Quick!” he shouted. “Throw it out of the cave!” and he thrust it into Dippy Ditty’s hands. The child stumbled to the entrance, the hot flames of the dragon’s breath scorching her back and her bare feet slipping on bodies of bats, pulped by the explosion. At last she was there, throwing the sack out over the edge and into the abyss below. In that moment the hot blast on her back seemed to change to ice. The roar ended in a ghastly strangled scream and, turning, she saw the dragon limp on the floor of the cave. All was now silent. She sat shivering and weeping on a rock. Minutes later, Wiemax and Pee-Zereau and the King picked their way past, the paralysed monster. “I wonder if there was any magnesium in that stuff,” Pee-Zereau was saying.
184
EDITORLCG
Bells, flags, bonfires greeted their return to the city. The Queen wept. It was a moment of joy for all. But it was not long before a darker mood descended on the city, for there was no hiding the desperate state into which the kingdom’s affairs had fallen. It was inevitable that the King should turn for help to the two wise men. But their response was equivocal, possibly even deliberately misleading. Now, instead of giving practical advice, they appeared always to be speaking in riddles. “We understand all,” said Pee-Zereau, on one exasperating occasion, “and the f&e thread of thought which extends between us is the tight-rope of contractility on which you must dance above the abyss.” “I can’t make head nor tail of it,” muttered the King and he returned disconsolate to the palace. “The people are getting restive,” the Queen told him. “You must call another meeting soon, if only to keep them quiet. By all means invite your two sinister friends,” she added, “but be careful! It’s your job they’re after.” “And what about Dippy D?” asked the King. “Can she come too?” “Certainly not!” snapped the Queen. And that was the end of that. But the meeting was arranged, and the wise men agreed to come. Revelation w&s in the air. The hall was thronged and, as the High Priest Lson gave the floor to Wiemax, the moment was apocalyptic. Wiemax walked slowly to the rostrum and stood there motionless, silent, his right hand outstretched above him, his blue eyes gazing into some star-distant and quintessential truth. When he began to speak it was no human voice but transcendental breath which passed through him and through all souls. “Where is Contractility?” he asked. “I will tell you . . . ” “There is no need to,” interrupted a quiet voice from outside and through the pillared doorway stepped a maiden with wisps of straw in her hair. “I am that which you seek. See! I reveal myself!” Whereupon she carefully removed her external clothing disclosing layers and promises of layers of garments underneath, exotic in design and richly decorated with many national flags and mathematical and mystic symbols. She paused. Then, “No! This is not the moment of truth,” she shouted. “Do not weep, 0 King, 0 Lson! For to those who seek me I shall reveal more--perhaps all.” And instantly she fled away to the wild and holy mountains. All this was a long time ago. But still young men walking alone in the hills at dusk or daybreak may glimpse a maiden with wisps of straw in her hair and mystic signs on her bosom. Woe1 Woe to them if they follow her! P.H.
Molecular and Cellular Cardiology Volume 4
Number 3
June 1972
EDITORIAL Contractility
Revealed
Once upon a time and in a far country there lived a King. He was neither wise nor foolish nor again particularly virtuous, but, after centuries of national tranquill&y, Providence had determined that it should be on his crowned head that catastrophe should fall. The year which we are now considering had been one of crisis. For a long time the country had existed on an annual tribute from a neighbouring nomadic people known as the Nihgrants, but this year the Nihgrants had refused to pay. The country faced utter ruin. In such national adversity men and kings turn alike to religion for guidance. For a thousand years the people had worshipped the heart. The religion was a gentle one, administered by an ascetic group of priests revered under the title of Cardiologists. Their creed was simple, stating first that the heart was the lifeforce of the body and second that there existed a divine essence which was the life-force of the heart. This latter was given the name “contractility”, the essence of the essence of life. To all who had studied the holy books it was clear that in the discovery of “contractility” lay the key to the danger both spiritual and temporal which beset the kingdom. But how to discover it? The King called a meeting of the Cardiologists to consider the matter. A number of conflicting views had been given when an elderly Cardiologist, and a founder member of the international society, at last spoke-or, rather, started to speak. “Where is contractility?” he began. “I will tell you . . . ” “There is no need to,” interrupted a quiet voice from outside and through the pillared doorway stepped a maiden with wisps of straw in her hair. “I am that which you seek.” “We think you may well be,” said the King, letting his eye rest perhaps a shade too long on her youthful form, “What is your name, my child?” “My parents called me Dippy Ditty,” said the girl, “but others have called me Contractility.’ ’ “And do you believe that you are the impersonation of contractility?” asked the King. “Many have said that I am,” said she, ‘(but I believe I have been sent only 14
179
180
EDITORIAL.
to show the way to contractility and the fulfilment of the good life”. Then she added, “I think men usually misunderstand me”. “I don’t,” muttered the Queen. But the King asked: “Can you show us where we can find Contractility, then?” “I think I can, Sire, if you would but trust me.” And it was thus that the King, together with a small band of young but devoted cardiologists and led by Dippy Ditty, rode through the realm in search of Contractility, the essence of the essence of life. After many weeks they came to a castle and found that it belonged to the Lady Elastic. In a short time the lady herself appeared, descending an immense spiral staircase. She curtsied low in front of the King. “Lady Elastic,” began the King. “Call me Cerise, your Highness,” replied the languid lady with a serpentine movement of the body. “Lady Cerise Elastic,” began the King again. And at this moment he became aware of the unusually red shade of her skin from which possibly she had derived her name and which (erroneously as it happened) suggested to him some North American origin. At the same instant his regal and sensitive eye observed a distinctly antipathetic crossing of eyebeams between Cerise Elastic and Dippy Ditty. “But you two ladies already know each other!” he exclaimed. “We are distantly related, Sire,” replied Cerise Elastic, “but she affects not to recognize me.” Sensing an ugly turn to the conversation, the King changed the subject, enquiring immediately whether the Lady Elastic could direct him to Contractility. Her face paled to a light pink. “Alas, for the many brave young knights who have left in the morning with that word on their lips and lost their reason before nightfall! Stay here with me!” she cried, her arms stretched toward him and her more-than-ample bosom vibrating with anguish. “Life here is warm and yielding, cushioned against the shocks of the world.” “We must get on,” said Miss Ditty drily and the King, his inner vision called back to the sterner duties of the crown, nodded assent. Cerise Elastic dried her tears and proceeded to draw a map. “The way is simple,” she said. “You will find it in any of the holy books. Here is the path”-and she pointed to a zig-zag line-“It passes up the Ayvey Hill.” “At the top of the hill you will find a box.” She drew a simple rectangle to represent it. “Inside the box is Contractility.” The party moved on its way along the path which zig-zagged up the side of a steep hill covered with bracken. It was a sunny day and their spirits were high. When they reached the top they found a simple black box lying in the sun. On it was written ‘Contractile Element”. Without hesitation, the King grasped the
EDITORIAL
181
lid in both hands and swung it open on its hinges. They all looked into the dark depths of the box, their eyes blinded by the bright sun outside, At last at its bottom they could see a piece of dusty paper. The King reached down for it and brought it into the sunlight. Three words were written on it: “Gone to lunch.” The party sat down on the grass in the hot sun. After an hour there was a rustling in the neighbouring bracken and into the open came a snake. It writhed its way swiftly toward the box and started to coil up in it when the King, not sure whether it was incumbent or intruder, stood up and addressed it. “Who are you? What are you doing in that box?” To everybody’s surprise it was the tail which replied. “My name, 0 King, is Sin. I live here.” “But does not this box belong to Contractility? Where is Contractility, you wicked Sin!” “That is a weighty question,” said Sin. “You had better discuss it with the heavy end. Hey! Myo!” At this the head end of the beast rose swaying above the edge of the box. “Myo,” Sin said, “here are some more people asking about Contractility.” “Tell them it doesn’t exist,” hissed the head. “You blasphemous Myo!” thundered the King. “Tell us where we can find Contractility, the essence of the essence of life!” A crafty look came into the serpent’s green eye. “In truth, Sire, I do not know the answer to your question, but I think you should ask ATP. He at least knows where the power lies.” “And where shall we find this ATP?” asked the King. “Look yonder,” said the beast “at the holy mountain of the Aani Cats. In its sheer side is a cave and in the dark depths of its mitochasm you will find ATP.” And suddenly he hissed with secret pleasure. “And the best of luck!” he shouted after them. They hurried on, chattering with renewed excitement and oblivious of the malevolent Myo, toward the dark hole in the side of the mountain. The way ended in a huge slope of scree which slowed their pace and left little breath for amiable chatter. But there were other reasons for the silence which now fell upon them. As they came nearer, the black hole took on an increasingly forbidding appearance. From time to time a wisp of blue smoke could be seen curling out from the opening and a faint smell of burning replaced the sweet and alluring scent of the sun on the bracken. And what at first had seemed the innocent rumble of a distant waterfall presently took on the character of the snoring of some gigantic beast. At last they stood trembling in the mouth of the cave from which the rhythmic and terrible rumble emerged. Deep in the infolded darkness of the mitochasm they were aware of an area of misty blue light. The King led the way boldly towards it shouting “ATP! ATP! Are you there? We want to speak with you.”
182
EDITOR=
His voice echoed thinly in the deep cavern, but in an instant the rumbling ceased and some vague movement was occurring in the region of the blue light which grew gradually larger and nearer. Soon the terrifying truth was apparent as the blue light took upon itself the phosphorescent outline of an immense dragon. Frozen with fear they crouched against the wall of the cave as the beast drew near. A few yards from them it stopped and opened a hideous mouth from which fire and words were exhaled. “Who are you! By what right do you disturb me?” “We are looking for ATP,” faltered the King, “We were sent here by a serpent whose name we have forgotten-the front end of a serpent whose name we have forgotten, who lives in a black . . . ” “I am ATP,” thundered the dragon. “What do you want of me?” “We are seeking Contractility, the essence of the essence of life.” There was a pause. “I am the essence of the essence of life,” shouted the dragon and the hot flames of his breath dragged the enzymic bats screaming from the roof of the cave, “Who told you otherwise?” The King cast a long and pregnant glance sideways at Dippy Ditty. Finally he said, “We have been told by all our most learned Cardiologists that Contractility is the essence of the essence of life and this is why we seek him.” “He’s a myth,” roared the dragon, “a mythical beast.” The King swallowed a hasty and obvious reply. “Then we shall disturb you no further,” he said and turned to go. “I’m hungry,” said the dragon and moved swiftly between the royal party and the exit. “We have a friend called St. Georgie,” said the King with the calmness that comes with desperation. The beast paused. The words had not been without effect. “If St. Georgie comes here again,” he muttered, “I’ll give him a bit of my terminal bond,” and he lashed his tail, sending blue sparks into the darkness and a suffocating smell of burning phosphorus. He paused again, looking round at the group. “You, you, you and you and you can go,” he said, “This one I shall keep,” pointing to the King. “If you bring me Contractility, dead or alive, I shall return the hostage.” And with a hideous roar he bore the King down into the depths of his grisly cave. We shall pass over the long and perilous journey home and the anguish of a loyal citizenry when it heard the fate of its King. The elders of the International Society called an immediate and extraordinary assembly with an appropriate opening ceremony attended by half the crowned heads and cracked cardio-pots of the civilized world. But all the ceremonial dinners, brass bands, fireworks and pilgrimages in charabancs to important places which accompanied the assembly failed to shed any light on Contractility.
EDITORIAL
183
Now at this time there appeared in the city two wise men, Wiemax and PeeZereau, adopted sons, it was said, of the legendary Blick. It was not long before their opinion in the matter of the King was sought. “Humans store gold,” said Wiemax, “Dragons store chalk. Take away his chalk and ATP will be weak as a baby.” “I shall return at once,” said Dippy Ditty. “Who will come with me?” The silence which followed told of the hardships of the journey and the fearsome danger at its end. It was at last broken by Pee-Zereau. “We shall come with you, my child” he said, his glance flickering briefly in the direction of Wiemax. And so Dippy Ditty, accompanied by the old men, returned the long journey across the width of the kingdom until one day she stood again outside the terrible cavern. Night was falling, but they determined to enter the cave at once. The bats were stirring. From the depth came the ghastly rhythmic rumble, terrifying but also reassuring since it told them the beast was sleeping. Wiemax led silently along the cave. After a while he stopped, peering at something on the left-hand wall. “Here we are!” he whispered. “The Strong Room!” and to confirm his conject,ure the letters “S.R.” could now be seen on a low door set into the wall. “How do we get in?” asked Dippy Ditty, her eye on an enormous lock. “We haven’t got . . . ” The words froze in her throat, for at that instant the snoring ceased. For a few seconds there was a snuflling sound and then a roar of rage as the beast, recognizing the scent, came stumbling up from the blue depth. “Quick! The sodium flux!” shouted Pee-Zereau and, taking a bag from Wiemax, he squeezed its contents into the lock. The result was cataclysmic. Some vast force appeared to develop in the cave and a gigantic flash of yellow lightning struck the keyhole. As the explosion died away the door swung open. Wiemax dashed in and dragged out a heavily laden sack. “Quick! Quick!” he shouted. “Throw it out of the cave!” and he thrust it into Dippy Ditty’s hands. The child stumbled to the entrance, the hot flames of the dragon’s breath scorching her back and her bare feet slipping on bodies of bats, pulped by the explosion. At last she was there, throwing the sack out over the edge and into the abyss below. In that moment the hot blast on her back seemed to change to ice. The roar ended in a ghastly strangled scream and, turning, she saw the dragon limp on the floor of the cave. All was now silent. She sat shivering and weeping on a rock. Minutes later, Wiemax and Pee-Zereau and the King picked their way past, the paralysed monster. “I wonder if there was any magnesium in that stuff,” Pee-Zereau was saying.
184
EDITORLCG
Bells, flags, bonfires greeted their return to the city. The Queen wept. It was a moment of joy for all. But it was not long before a darker mood descended on the city, for there was no hiding the desperate state into which the kingdom’s affairs had fallen. It was inevitable that the King should turn for help to the two wise men. But their response was equivocal, possibly even deliberately misleading. Now, instead of giving practical advice, they appeared always to be speaking in riddles. “We understand all,” said Pee-Zereau, on one exasperating occasion, “and the f&e thread of thought which extends between us is the tight-rope of contractility on which you must dance above the abyss.” “I can’t make head nor tail of it,” muttered the King and he returned disconsolate to the palace. “The people are getting restive,” the Queen told him. “You must call another meeting soon, if only to keep them quiet. By all means invite your two sinister friends,” she added, “but be careful! It’s your job they’re after.” “And what about Dippy D?” asked the King. “Can she come too?” “Certainly not!” snapped the Queen. And that was the end of that. But the meeting was arranged, and the wise men agreed to come. Revelation w&s in the air. The hall was thronged and, as the High Priest Lson gave the floor to Wiemax, the moment was apocalyptic. Wiemax walked slowly to the rostrum and stood there motionless, silent, his right hand outstretched above him, his blue eyes gazing into some star-distant and quintessential truth. When he began to speak it was no human voice but transcendental breath which passed through him and through all souls. “Where is Contractility?” he asked. “I will tell you . . . ” “There is no need to,” interrupted a quiet voice from outside and through the pillared doorway stepped a maiden with wisps of straw in her hair. “I am that which you seek. See! I reveal myself!” Whereupon she carefully removed her external clothing disclosing layers and promises of layers of garments underneath, exotic in design and richly decorated with many national flags and mathematical and mystic symbols. She paused. Then, “No! This is not the moment of truth,” she shouted. “Do not weep, 0 King, 0 Lson! For to those who seek me I shall reveal more--perhaps all.” And instantly she fled away to the wild and holy mountains. All this was a long time ago. But still young men walking alone in the hills at dusk or daybreak may glimpse a maiden with wisps of straw in her hair and mystic signs on her bosom. Woe1 Woe to them if they follow her! P.H.