"Ah," said Sir Edward thoughtfully, gazing upon the almost supernal
beauty of the Child before him; "you speak well. You have read
Kant."

The Boy blushed deeply. He drew a copy of Kant from his blouse,
but in his confusion several other volumes dropped from his bosom
on the ground. The Baronet picked them up.

"Ah!" said the Philosopher, "what's this? Cicero's De Senectute,
at your age, too? Martial's Epigrams, Caesar's Commentaries.
What! a classical scholar?"

"E pluribus Unum. Nux vomica. Nil desperandum. Nihil fit!" said
the Boy, enthusiastically. The Philosopher gazed at the Child. A
strange presence seemed to transfuse and possess him. Over the
brow of the Boy glittered the pale nimbus of the Student.

"Ah, and Schiller's Robbers, too?" queried the Philosopher.

"Das ist ausgespielt," said the Boy, modestly.

"Then you have read my translation of Schiller's Ballads?"
continued the Baronet, with some show of interest.

"I have, and infinitely prefer them to the original," said the Boy,
with intellectual warmth. "You have shown how in Actual life we
strive for a Goal we cannot reach; how in the Ideal the Goal is
attainable, and there effort is victory. You have given us the
Antithesis which is a key to the Remainder, and constantly balances
before us the conditions of the Actual and the privileges of the