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THOU ART THE MAN
I will now play the Oedipus to the Rattleborough enigma. I will expound
to you--as I alone can--the secret of the enginery that effected the
Rattleborough miracle--the one, the true, the admitted, the undisputed,
the indisputable miracle, which put a definite end to infidelity among
the Rattleburghers and converted to the orthodoxy of the grandames all
the carnal-minded who had ventured to be sceptical before.
This event--which I should be sorry to discuss in a tone of unsuitable
levity--occurred in the summer of 18--. Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy--one
of the wealthiest and most respectable citizens of the borough--had
been missing for several days under circumstances which gave rise to
suspicion of foul play. Mr. Shuttleworthy had set out from Rattleborough
very early one Saturday morning, on horseback, with the avowed intention
of proceeding to the city of-, about fifteen miles distant, and of
returning the night of the same day. Two hours after his departure,
however, his horse returned without him, and without the saddle-bags
which had been strapped on his back at starting. The animal was wounded,
too, and covered with mud. These circumstances naturally gave rise to
much alarm among the friends of the missing man; and when it was found,
on Sunday morning, that he had not yet made his appearance, the whole
borough arose en masse to go and look for his body.
The foremost and most energetic in instituting this search was the bosom
friend of Mr. Shuttleworthy--a Mr. Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was
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