Amin, says the prophet; fate is fate, what's before is not behind, neither is what's behind before, and every thing will come to pass that's to happen.

Amin, agin, says the prophet, an' what am I to write?
Grandeur an' wealth--up stairs and down stairs--silks-an' satins--an inside car--bracelets, earrings, and Spanish boots, made of Morroccy leather, tanned at Cordovan.

Amin, agin, says Nebbychodanazor, the prophet; this is not that, neither is that the other, but every is everything--naither can something be nothing, nor nothing something, to the end of time; and time itself is but cousin jarmin to eternity--as is recorded in the great book of fate, fortune and fatality.

Write again, says the angel.

What am I to write?
At the name of Mabel Sullivan place along wid all the rest, two great paragons of a woman's life, Marriage and Prosperity--write marriage happy, and prosperity numerous--and so the child's born, an' the page written--beauty and goodness, a happy father, and a proud mother--both made wealthy through her means." "And so," he proceeded, dropping the recitative, and resuming his natural voice-- "Be kind and indulgent to your daughter, for she'll yet live to make all your fortunes.