In fine, the fruit is very late, and seldom comes to perfect maturity. The shell is almost round, divided within into little cells, and ending at the top in a crown. The little cells of the philosophical fruit, are full of seeds transparent as crystal, round and flatted like a Lentil, but infinitely smaller. When the fruit is ripe, it bursts; the cells open, the seeds come out. But as they are very light, they are suspended in the air, and the wind blows them every way over the surface of the earth. One thing would astonish thee if thou wast not a little versed in chymistry and optics, and that is, these philosophical grains have a particular analogy to the eye. They will not stick to any other substance; but, as soon as they come within the reach of certain eyes, they never fail to fasten on them, and that just before the sight of the eye. As they are perfectly transparent, they cannot be perceived: But they are discovered by their effects. He that has a seed of this kind before his eyes, sees things as they are, and he cannot be imposed upon by chimæras. What used to appear to him _great_, is prodigiously lessened, and what appeared to him _little_, is magnified in the same proportion; so that to his eyes, every thing is upon a level or nearly so. In general, men appear to him very little, and those lords over others, whom he beheld before as colossuses, seem to him so little above the rest, that he hardly perceives the difference. He sees the extent of human knowledge, and finds it so near to ignorance, that he does not conceive how learning can breed vanity, or ignorance cause shame. He sees without disguise the phantom of immortality, the idol of the great and the jest of the wise. He sees the celebrated names penetrate a little more or less into futurity; and then stop like the rest and sink into eternal oblivion. He sees what is low in the most sublime; the dark part of what casts the most lustre, the weak side in what appears the strongest: And his imagination presents to him nothing dazzling, but wherein his reason discovers all the defects. He sees the earth, as a point in the boundless space; the series of ages, as an instant in eternal duration; and the chain of human actions, as the traces of a cloud of flies in the aerial plains. In fine, he respects virtue; and, as to the rest, whatever he perceives all around him, even to the most minute things, seems to him all alike. He esteems nothing, he despises nothing, he prefers nothing, and accommodates himself to every thing. Such a man cannot be conceived to be susceptible of all those little sallies of joy which affect others, but then he is screened from those little mortifications which trouble them so much, and in my opinion, he is a gainer. CHAP. XVII. THE SUBTERRANEOUS ROAD. I have one thing more (said the Prefect) to show thee; prepare thy eyes and thy ears; and be frightened at nothing.