Destiny, be chained to his past?

There is a Chinese thief-story somewhat in point here. A man who was
very poor stole from his neighbor, who was very rich, a single duck. He
cooked and ate it, and went to bed happy; but before morning he felt
all over his body and limbs a remarkable itching, a terrible irritation
that prevented sleep. When daylight came, he perceived that he had
sprouted all over with duck-feathers. This was an unlooked-for
judgment, and the man gave himself up to despair,--when he was informed
by an emanation of the divine Buddha that the feathers would fall from
him the moment he received a reproof and admonition from the man whose
duck he had stolen. This only increased his despair, for he knew his
neighbor to be one of the laughter-loving kind, who would not go to the
length of reproof, though he lost a thousand ducks. After sundry futile
attempts to swindle his neighbor out of the needed admonition, our
friend was compelled to divulge, not only the theft, but also the means
of cure, when he was cured.

And this good, easy man, who is wealthy with the results of
pocket-picking;--that well-cut black coat, that satin waistcoat, that
elegantly-adjusted scarf and well-arranged collar, they are all
duck-feathers; but the feather that itches is that irreclaimable
tendency of the fingers to find their way into other people's pockets.
Pity, however, the man who cannot be at ease till he has received a
reproof from every one whose pocket he has picked through a long life
in London and in New York city.

The amount of mental activity that gleams out upon you from these walls
is something wonderful; evidence of sufficient thinking to accomplish
almost any intellectual task; thought-life crowded with what