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upon the pure spirit of knowledge, or upon the foul dregs of polluting passions.

7. Therefore, when I say, in conducting your understanding love knowledge with a great love, with a vehement love, with a love coe'val with life, what do I say, but love innocence; love virtue; love purity of conduct; love that which, if you are rich and great, will sanctify the blind fortune which has made.you so, and make men call it justice; love that which, if you arc poor, will render your poverty respectable, and make the proudest feel it unjust to laugh at the meanness of your fortunes; love that wht' h will comfort you, adorn you, and never quit you, — which wt' open to you the kingdom of thought, and all the boundleui regions of conception, as an asylum" against the cruelty, the injustice, and the pain, that may be your lot in the outer world, — that which will make your motives habitually great and honorable, and light up in an instant a thousand noble disdains at the very thought of meanness and of fraud!

8. Therefore, if any young man here have embarked his life in pursuit of knowledge, let him go on without doubting or fearing the event; let him not be intimidated by the cheerless beginnings of knowledge, by the darkness from which she springs,

so attentive? The order, the grandeur, the punctuality of all the arrangements for the reception and comfort of guests, show that some great and good sovereign must be the proprietor."

6. "There are some who do not agree with you," said the old man. "Listen to me, my son! This day you shall go forth among the guests, and take your lot with them. I leave you to your own resources henceforth. You will learn that, as a certain amount of physical labor is essential to health, the sovereign owner has made it a general condition of the entertainment of all, that food and raiment shall be supplied only at the price of labor. The distribution of this labor among the guests he has left to their justice." — " And do they not distribute it aright?" inquired the new guest.

7. "Alas, no!" was the reply. "It has been estimated that, if all would give three hours out of the twenty-four to manual labor, an abundance for all would be secured, and ample time left for study and wholesome diversion. But you will find the guests quarrelling, many of them, among themselves, and trying to overreach one another. Almost every one tries to shift his task upon his neighbor, or to accumulate more than his share of the bounties which the good sovereign has supplied."

8. "Why do people stay here?" asked the inexperienced guest. —" Because," replied the old man, "the least favored inmate cannot but see that the capabilities of happiness are placed within his reach. None pass the threshold of the outermost door but with regrets and tears. Some charge their past chagrins' upon envious or malevolent opponents; others, upon false, friends; others, upon their own misconduct. Few can fail to acknowledge that the means of enjoyment which the asylum" offers, were they but used aright, would be all-sufficient for all." The stranger ceased, and took his leave; and the traveller went forth among the guests.

9. Many years after this conversation, as the same traveller sat meditating on the past, and gloomily anticipating the future, the messenger whose duty it was to conduct guests from the palace beckoned to him to leave. It was with a thrill of pain that the traveller received the signal, notwithstanding he was at that moment arraigning in his mind the justice and wisdom of the unseen master. The disorders and inequalities, the crimes and discontents, prevalent among the guests, were a subject of sorrowful reflection. And yet the traveller shuddered at the thought of his departure.

10. "Why is it," he said to himself, "that the sovereign master of this palace, if there be a master, does not interfere to prevent those scandalous scenes of spoliation and violence among his guests, which the good behold with so much regret and dismay? It was only this morning that I saw a most worthy family shamefully plundered, while the villains who committed the robbery were left to enjoy their ill-got spoils, without molestation. Such abuses are as repugnant to every notion of justice as they are inconsistent with the strict management of a wellordered household."

11. While revolving these sad thoughts, the messenger who had beckoned him to depart drew nigh; but, ere he could take the hand of the traveller, Experience, his old friend, interposed, and said to the latter, "Dost thou suppose that thou hast witnessed the end of these things? The sovereign has seen all, heard all. The palace is so constructed that not a whisper which is uttered there fails to reach his ears. Not a deed is committed which he cannot see. Not a thought is conceived, the motion of which in the brain does not make undulations in the atmosphere that reach him and vibrate its meaning.

12. "Know that, by a power inconceivable to all save him by whom it is exerted, he obliges all travellers who cross this forest to so'journ for a period, longer or shorter, in this Palace of Probation, in order that their qualities of mind and heart may be developed and tested amid scenes the best fitted for their exercise »nd confirmation. Indulgent but just, he will await all who have ao'journed here, in a more magnificent palace, — the Palaco of Compensation, — contiguous to this you are about to quit, but compared with which the present is little better than a hovel.

13. "Thither, by an irresistible power, of which this messenger who awaits you is an agent, the steps of all will be directed. It is there that each guest will find his deserts according to his conduct and character. It is there that all will recognize tha sacred requisitions of justice." Light seemed to pour upon the aoul of the pilgrim, now that he was departing, even as it had upon his eyes at the moment of his entrance. All was explained, all was clear! He was no longer bewildered by afflicting doubts as to the character of the sovereign whose hospitality he had enjoyed. At once consoled for the past and reassured for the future, he said, with a joyful alacrity, to the messenger, "Lead on!"

14. Already through the opening portai, rising above the haze of the distance, the traveller sees the stupendous outlines of the second palace. The style of the architecture of that portion of the building presented to his view is somewhat austere, but, as he advances, it assumes a softer and sublimer grace. He is eager to enter its magnificent precincts. He has no fear for the future. He has been seen by the master, whose hospitality he has not abused. He carries with him a conscience void of offence. That is enough. Original Translation From Tub French.


1. Whang, the miller, was naturally avaricious; nobody loved money better than he, or more respected those who had it. When people would talk of a rich man in company, Whang would say, "I know him very well; he and I have been long acquainted; he and I are intimate." But, if ever a poor man was mentioned, he had not the least knowledge of the man; he might be very well, for aught he knew; but he was not fond of making many acquaintances, and loved to choose his company.

2. Whang, however, with all his eagerness for riches, was poor. He had nothing but the profits of his mill to support him; but, though these were small, they were certain; while it stood and went he was sure of eating; and his frugality was such that ha every day laid some money by, which he would at intervals count and contemplate" with much satisfaction. Yet still his acquisitions were not equal to his desires; he only found himself abovt waut, whereas he desired to be possessed of affluence.

3. One day, as he was indulging these wishes, he was informed that a neighbor" of his had found a pan of money under ground, having dreamed of it three nights running before. These tidings were daggers to the heart of poor Whang. "Here am I," says he, "toiling and moiling from morning till night for a few paltry farthings, while neighbor Thanks only goes quietly to bed and dreams himself into thousands before morning. O, that I could dream like him! With what pleasure would I dig round the pan! How slyly would I carry it home! not even my wife should see me: and then, O, the pleasure of thrusting one's hand into a heap of gold up to the elbow!"

4. Such reflections only served to make the miller unhappy; he discontinued his former assiduity; he was quite disgusted with small gains, and his customers began to forsake him. Every day he repeated the wish, and every night laid himself down in order to dream. Fortune, that was for a long time unkind, at last, however, seemed to smile on his distresses, and indulged him with the wished-for vision. He dreamed that under a certain part of the foundation of his mill there was concealed a monstrous pan of gold and diamonds, buried deep in the ground, and covered with a large flat stone.

5. He concealed his good luck from every person, as is usual in money dreams, in order to have the vision repeated the two succeeding nights, by which he should be certain of its truth. His wishes in this, also, were answered; he still dreamed of the same pan of money in the very same place. Now, therefore, it was past a doubt; so, getting up early the third morning, he repaired alone, with a mattock in his hand, to the mill, and began to undermine that part of the wall to which the vision directed him.

6. The first omen of success that he met was a broken ring; digging still deeper, he turned up a house-tile, quite new and entire. At last, after much digging, he came to a broad flat stone, but then so large that it was beyond man's strength to remove it. "Here !" cried he, in raptures, to himself; "here it is; under this stone there is room for a very large pan of diamonds indeed. I must e'en go home to my wife, and tell her the whole affair, and get her to assist me in turning it up."

7. Away, therefore, he goes, and acquaints his wife with every circumstance of their good fortune. Her raptures on this occasion may easily be imagined. She flew round his neck and em braced him in an ecstasy of joy; but these transports," however did not allay their eagerness to know the exact sum; returning, therefore, together to the same place where Whang had beec digging, there they found — not, indeed, the expected treasure — but the mill, their only support, undermined and fallen.



1. It is not for us to say whether inspiration revealed to th» Psalmist the wonders of modern astronomy. But even though the mind be a perfect stranger to the science of these enlightened times, the heavens present a great and an elevating spectacle, — un immense con'cave" reposing upon the circular boundary of the world, and the innumerable lights which are suspended from on high, moving with solemn regularity along its surface. It seema to have been at night that the piety of the Psalmist" was awakened by this contemplation, when the moon and the stars were visible, and not when the sun had risen in his strength, and thrown a splendor around him, which bore down and eclipsed" all the lesser glories of the firmament.

2. And there is much in the scenery of a nocturnal sky to lift the soul to pious contemplation. The moon and these stars, what are they? They are detached from the world, and they lift us above it. We feel withdrawn from the earth, and rise in lofty abstraction from this little theatre" of human passions and human anxieties. The mind abandons itself to revery, and is transferred in the ecstasy of its thoughts to distant and unexplored regions. It sees nature in the simplicity of her great elements, and it sees the God of nature invested with the high attributes of wisdom and majesty.

3. But what can these lights be? The curiosity of the human mind is insatiable; and the mechanism of these wonderful heavens has, in all ages, been its subject and its employment. It has been reserved for these latter times to resolve this great and interesting question. The sublimest powers of philosophy have been called to the exercise, and astronomy may now be looked upon as the most certain and best-established of the sciences.

4. We all know that every visible object appears less in mag nitude as it recedes from the eye. The lofty vessel, as it retires from the coast, shrinks into littleness, and at last appears in the form of a small speck on the verge of the horizon." The eagle with its expanded wings is a noble object; but when it takes its flight into the upper regions of the air, it becomes less to the eye, and is seen like a dark spot upon the vault of heaven. The same is true of all magnitude. The heavenly bodies appear small to the eye of an inhabitant of this earth only from the immensity of their distance. When we talk of hundreds of millions of miles, it is not to be listened to as incredible. For remember that we aro talking of those bodies which are scattered over the imuiens

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