schooling, a pilgrimage to a better. It is an old remedy, but it has
been often tried; and to millions of our race has made this world
more than tolerable, and death tranquil, nay, triumphant. Do you
remember Schiller's 'Walk among the Linden-Trees'?"

"Perfectly well."

"Do you not remember how the two youths differ in their estimate of
the beautiful in nature? 'Is it possible,' says Edwin, 'you can thus
turn from the cup of joy, sparkling and overflowing as it is?'--'Yes,'
said Wollmar, 'when one finds a spider in it; and why not? In your
eyes, to be sure, Nature decks herself out like a rosy-checked maiden
on her bridal day. To me she appears an old, withered beldame, with
sunken eyes, furrowed cheeks, and artificial ornaments in her
hair. How she seems to admire herself in this her Sunday finery! But
it is the same worn and ancient garment, put off and on some hundreds
of thousands of times.' But how natural is the explanation of all
given at the beautiful close of the dialogue! 'Here,' said the jocund
Edwin, 'I first met my Juliet.'--'And it was under these linden-trees,'
says Wollmar, 'that I lost my Laura' It was their mood of mind, and
not the outward world, that made all the difference. All nature,
innocent thing! must consent to take her hue from it. You have, I
fear, lost your Laura,"--simply alluding to his early faith; "or
shall I suppose, from your present mood, that you have just met with
your Juliet?" I spoke, of course, of his philosophy.

He was looking out of the window; but on my turning my gaze towards him,
I saw such a look of peculiar anguish, that I felt I had inadvertently
touched a terrible chord indeed. I turned the conversation hastily,
by remarking (almost without thinking of what I said) on the