Meda: a Tale of the Future. Kenneth Folingsby

"Meda: a Tale of the Future," was written during the year 1888. Some friends having seen the MS. expressed a desire to have printed copies. To gratify the wishes of these indulgent readers this little book has been printed. If a copy should by chance fall into the hands of any "outside friendship's pale," the author would crave mercy at their hands.

Chapters(not individually listed)

1 Introduction

2 Part I

3 Part II

4 Part III

5 Part IV

6 Part V

7 Part VI

8 Part VII

9 Part VIII

10 Part IX

11 Part X

12 Part XI

13 Part XII

14 Part XIII

15 Part XIV

16 Part XV

INTRODUCTION.

Table of Contents

HOW curious are the incidents that occur in all lives, and how often is it that the most important amongst them may take its rise in the merest trifle!

In looking backward on a life's history we find that our most important actions have been influenced and our life's path determined by an accident.

Like the waters of some little spring situated on an elevated ridge of ground dividing two valleys, a twig, a stone, a growth of herbage may direct their course into one valley or the other, this accident making this spring perhaps the fountain head of a great river flowing down the valley that leads to the south; while, had this accidental obstruction been placed on the other side, its waters would have been delivered into the other valley and thus caused to flow in an entirely opposite direction.

When we come to think of it, a spring and river would be a not inapt illustration of the source of life and life's stream. From life's first dawn it must flow onward and onward without ceasing, its course at one time or another being diverted by the twig, the stone, or the herbage of life's accidents. So it continues its way, now winding, twisting, and buffeting with rocks and crags, while in yonder pool it is calm, peaceful, and placid, yes, and too often stagnant, while anon we hear it moan and groan in agony, as it rushes into some death-like cavern of sorrow, after a time to arise again in sportive joy, and meander through the lovely valley of pleasure further down.

It is ever changing, yet ever falling, until it arrives at that boundless ocean of death—the common receiver of all streams of life—no matter what their origin or course may have been.

It was a slight incident in my life that led me to discover the contents of one of life's caverns, that proved of the greatest interest to me, and which, I think, may possibly also interest others.

I was walking near a large manufacturing city in a district well in the country and full of pretty villas, when I noticed a tall delicate-looking man in front of me. He walked with the assistance of a stick, and had evidently just recovered from a serious illness, for he seemed to get along with great difficulty. I thought he was about to faint, and, rushing forward, I caught hold of him, thinking he would fall. He turned his face, and looking at me said, "Thank you, friend; I am very feeble, and shall be much obliged, if you will kindly assist me to my home, which is not far off." While slowly walking along, holding my arm, he continued;—I have just recovered from a very curious and serious illness. Feeling better this morning, I thought

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