“Your medical learning surprises me,” said I, smiling; “and without pausing to notice where it deals somewhat superficially with disputable points in general, and my own theory in particular, I ask you for the deduction you draw from your premises.” “It is simply this: that to all animate bodies, however various, there must be one principle in common,--the vital principle itself. What if there be one certain means of recruiting that principle; and what if that secret can be discovered?” “Pshaw! The old illusion of the mediaeval empirics.” “Not so. But the mediaeval empirics were great discoverers. You sneer at Van Helmont, who sought, in water, the principle of all things; but Van Helmont discovered in his search those invisible bodies called gases. Now the principle of life must be certainly ascribed to a gas.(1) And what ever is a gas chemistry should not despair of producing! But I can argue no longer now,--never can argue long at a stretch; we are wasting the morning; and, joy! the sun is up! See! Out! come out! out! and greet the great Lifegiver face to face.” I could not resist the young man’s invitation. In a few minutes we were in the quiet lane under the glinting chestnut-trees. Margrave was chanting, low, a wild tune,--words in a strange language. “What words are those,--no European language, I think; for I know a little of most of the languages which are spoken in our quarter of the globe, at least by its more civilized races.” “Civilized race! What is civilization? Those words were uttered by men who founded empires when Europe itself was not civilized! Hush, is it not a grand old air?” and lifting his eyes towards the sun, he gave vent to a voice clear and deep as a mighty bell! The air was grand; the words had a sonorous swell that suited it, and they seemed to me jubilant and yet solemn. He stopped abruptly as a path from the lane had led us into the fields, already half-bathed in sunlight, dews glittering on the hedgerows. “Your song,” said I, “would go well with the clash of cymbals or the peal of the organ. I am no judge of melody, but this strikes me as that of a religious hymn.” “I compliment you on the guess. It is a Persian fire-worshipper’s hymn to the sun. The dialect is very different from modern Persian. Cyrus the Great might have chanted it on his march upon Babylon.” “And where did you learn it?” “In Persia itself.” “You have travelled much, learned much,--and are so young and so fresh. Is it an impertinent question if I ask whether your parents are yet living, or are you wholly lord of yourself?” “Thank you for the question,--pray make my answer known in the town. Parents I have not,--never had.” “Never had parents!”