“You are dropped suddenly—cast up by the sea on a strange shore. You find yourself where you have never been before. You know not where to go—how to conduct yourself among the natives; what fruits you may eat as wholesome, and must reject as poisonous. You do not know what course to pursue to reach your home, and fear at every step to get further from it. You cry out for a chart to show you where you are, and in what direction you should direct your steps. Every child born into this world is in a like predicament. It wants a chart, and to know its bearings. This is not the case with any animal. Every bird, fish, beast, knows what to do to fulfill the objects of its existence. Man alone does not. He has aspirations, glimmerings, a law of nature traced, but not filled in. He has lived by that natural law—you live under it, and you experience its inadequacy. That is why your conscience, all mankind, with inarticulate longing desires something further. Now I ask you, as I did once before, is it conceivable that the Creator of man, who put in man’s heart that aspiration, that longing to know the law of his being, without which his life is but a miserable shipwreck—is it conceivable that He should withhold from him the chart by which he can find his way?” “You have given me food for thought. Yet, my doubts still remain.” “I cannot give you faith. That lightens down from above. It is the gift of God. Follow the law of your conscience and He may grant it you. I cannot say when or how, and what means he may employ—but if you are sincere and not a trifler with the truth—He will not deny it you. But see—here comes some one who desires to speak with you.” Æmilius looked in the direction indicated, and saw Callipodius coming up from the water‐side, waving his hand to him. So engrossed had he been in conversation with Castor, that he had not observed the arrival of a boat at the landing‐place. At once the young lawyer sped to meet his client, manifesting the utmost impatience. “What tidings—what news?” was his breathless question. “As good as may be,” answered Callipodius. “The gods work to fulfill thy desire. It is as if thou wert a constraining destiny, or as though it were a pleasure to them to satisfy the wishes of their favorite.” “I pray, lay aside this flattery, and speak plain words.” “Resplendent genius that thou art! thou needest no flattery any more than the sun requires burnishing.” “Let me entreat—the news!” “In two words——” “Confine thyself to two words.” “She is safe.” “Where? How?” “Now must I relax my tongue. In two words I cannot satisfy thy eagerness.” “Then, Body of Bacchus! go on in thine own fashion.”