balance even? What makes the staple of our happiness,--endearing to us
the life at which we should otherwise repine? It is the mere passive, yet
stirring, consciousness of life itself!--of the sun and the air of the
physical being; but this consciousness every emotion disturbs. Yet could
you add to its tranquillity an excitement that never exhausts itself,--
that becomes refreshed, not sated, with every new possession, then you
would obtain happiness. There is only one excitement of this divine
order,--that of intellectual culture. Behold now my theory! Examine it--
it contains no flaw. But if," renewed Aram, after a pause, "a man is
subject to fate solely in himself, not in others, he soon hardens his
mind against all fear, and prepares it for all events. A little
philosophy enables him to bear bodily pain, or the common infirmities of
flesh: by a philosophy somewhat deeper, he can conquer the ordinary
reverses of fortune, the dread of shame, and the last calamity of death.
But what philosophy could ever thoroughly console him for the ingratitude
of a friend, the worthlessness of a child, the death of a mistress?
Hence, only when he stands alone, can a man's soul say to Fate, 'I defy
thee.'"

"You think then," said the Earl, reluctantly diverting the conversation
into a new channel "that in the pursuit of knowledge lies our only active
road to real happiness. Yet here how eternal must be the disappointments
even of the most successful! Does not Boyle tell us of a man who, after
devoting his whole life to the study of one mineral, confessed himself,
at last, ignorant of all its properties?"

"Had the object of his study been himself, and not the mineral, he would
not have been so unsuccessful a student," said Aram, smiling. "Yet,"
added he, in a graver tone, "we do indeed cleave the vast heaven of Truth
with a weak and crippled wing: and often we are appalled in our way by a