“By the instincts of the human soul, which irresistibly impel us to look forward with hope and joy. Our life is a life of expectation. From infancy to old age hope is the dominating pole of our destinies. In what savage nation of the earth has not the doctrine of a future state been found existent? And why should not the hope thus conceded be accomplished? Is the power of God more infinite than the mind of his creatures? I do not invoke the authority of revelation and the Holy Scriptures. All convincing to myself: for _you_ they possess no authority. The breeze which impels the ship is powerless to move the rock: for the rock has no expanding sails to receive its impulse, and its feet are buried in the ponderous immobility of earth. Shall we believe in the eternity of matter, and not in that of the intelligence which serves to regulate our opinions concerning matter? Or are we to suppose that love, virtue, genius, result from the affinity of certain terrestrial molecules? Can that which is devoid of thought enable us to think? Can brute matter be the basis of human intelligence, when human intelligence is able to direct and govern matter? Why, then, do not stocks and stones think and feel as we do?” “Locke, the great English metaphysician, was inclined to suppose that matter might be endowed with ideas,” observed Charney. “There was contradiction, indeed, in his theory, since he rejected the doctrine of innate ideas, and seemed to admit the possibility of intuitive knowledge.” Then, interrupting himself with a laugh, the Count exclaimed, “Have a care, my kind instructor! I see you would fain involve me once more in the quicksand of doubt, or plunge me into the bottomless pit of metaphysics!” “I have no knowledge of metaphysics,” said Girardi, gravely. “And I but little,” observed Charney; “not, however, for want of devoting my time to the study. But let us drop a subject unprofitable, and, perhaps, injurious. You believe—rejoice in your belief! Your faith is dear to me; and if, perchance, I should shake its foundations——” “I defy you to the contest!” cried Girardi. “What have you to gain by the result?” “Your conversion; nothing less, my dear young friend, than your conversion. Just now you quoted Locke. Of that eminent philosopher I know but a single trait—that through life, and even on his death-bed, he asserted the true happiness of mankind to consist in purity of conscience and hope in eternal life.” “I perfectly comprehend the _consolation_ to be derived from such a creed, but my better reason forbids me to accept it. I entreat you, let us drop the subject,” said the Count de Charney. And a constrained silence ensued. Soon afterwards, something which had been circling overhead suddenly alighted on the foliage of the plant; a greenish insect, of which the narrow corslet was undulated with whitish stripes. “Sir!” cried Charney, “behold in good time a new text enabling you to enlarge upon the mysteries of creation.”