“ ‘Dear pupils, the true student of science is to a certain extent invested with a God-like nature; our profession is a priesthood, for you know the healing art in ancient times was only exercised by the priests: it requires therefore more than talent, it demands virtue.’ “ ‘Oh! oh!!’ exclaimed several students of the same year. “ ‘Medicine will again become a priesthood, or, if you prefer it, a social function; doctors will preside over the public hygiéne. The fewer maladies there are, the more will medicine be honoured and recompensed. But in order to arrive at this desirable end it is necessary to raise the qualifications of the profession, and to exclude many aspirants, otherwise each family will have its physician. What, then, would become of us when there is a doctor to each floor and another to each attic? The study of our science is painful and costly. It must be rendered doubly so to check the influx of those who either by talent or morality are unfitted to enter our ranks.’ “ ‘But, my master,’ said the Vulture, ‘you are not reasonable; what you dread is the ability of the young generation which threatens to eat up your sinecures. Your paternal solicitude is misplaced!’ “Another student objected to slandering misery and privation, the true attributes that alone by strengthening and purifying genius render it serviceable to the world. “ ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I myself have known that life is a hard, bitter struggle, but God is still all-powerful. The snow that covers every blade of grass and every seedling beneath its chill mantle, never caused me to doubt, even for an instant, that spring would come arrayed in its blossoms, or that autumn would again fill the storehouse with fruit and grain. I have known hunger, but never despair. What matters the numbers pressing forward to compete with us in allaying pain? There is room for all who honestly strive to make the world more joyous!’ “ ‘Long live joy!’ cried the Crow. ‘Misery is the poetry of the cottage, just as the garret is the palace of students. If life becomes still harder, why, to-morrow we will move up a story higher nearer heaven—go to the roofs. Now, my friends, here is the whole truth in {352} a nutshell, the houses of Paris must be viewed thus: our lofty attics contain the head, and therefore the brain, of this large city, something too of the heart. It is there one thinks, it is there one dreams, it is there one loves, while waiting to descend to the first floor, to meditate on ambition and riches. Our master may talk; for all that, he himself is a living proof of success—of the fact that very little merit indeed is frequently rewarded by much wealth and fame.’