meanest of mankind wear left-off clothes, or second-hand opinions. Each acts after its kind, but the wisdom of these discreet ones is marvellous indeed, and how such wisdom comes conjoined with such littleness of purpose and deformity of soul, such overweening good opinion of self, and such perfect and permanent happiness of life, is an enigma, which the Sphynx has eaten up many a man for not being able to solve.

CHAPTER XXII.

"Child! child! forbear! The sunsteeds of Time, lashed by invisible Spirits, hurry on the car of our destiny, while we in cool self possession hold the reins with a firm hand. Whither we are hurrying who can tell ?"-EGMONT.

I HAVE egotistically ventured, during the progress of the foregoing chapters, to state that my frame of mind is of the sound, common-sense, practical kind, which delights in customs and the established order of things. I do beg the indulgence of being allowed to confirm that statement, being fully persuaded and convinced that all this metaphysical and transcendental outcry against convention is mere lunacy and nonsense, and, therefore, and in consequence of being blessed with such a sterling sort of character, I, at length, grew weary of those peaceful realms, and wished to return to the ordinary duties and fooleries of life. To confess a weakness, the old human affections began to throb and flutter, and I missed that healthy state of toil, care, anxiety, and adversity, which all theologians tell us are the

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best possible blessings, and which they term the chastening hand of Providence, full of future mercy and benevolence. Imbued with these proper sentiments, I one day earnestly requested a friend to show me the downward path to this present world, which he very readily did; but it was requisite to wait until the ensuing equinox, in order to avail oneself of the planetary influences, without which no prosperous voyage could be calculated upon. I have already informed the reader of the easy process by which I entered the Eternal regions, and, as the egress was quite of the same character, it would be a useless repetition to describe it. Nothing is more simple than the progress from one world to another; it occupies, comparatively, a very small space of time, although the distance is so immense; but it is requisite to bear in mind the rapid motion of planets, of which the beings who inhabit them are quite unconscious. This Earth, for instance, revolves fifty millions of miles per second, but we know nothing of its motion by outward sensation. During our journey I could not forbear alluding to the old topic, and, as we went on, we entertained ourselves with the following conversation:"And is this all imagination—these millions of bodies, this solid ground, these masses of habi

tation-these fruits of the earth and products of commerce? Is there no reality?"

"O, yes," said he, "it is all real enough—it is all real as your earth and its inheritance. These things are."

"But it is matter, surely?"

"Yes," said he, " as material as your earth." "Then it is not imagination only ?"

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Undoubtedly," he replied, "there is something besides yourself, but whether it be matter or not I do not know, nor can I see that it much signifies to enquire."

"And do you call these realms Heaven or Hell?" I returned to ask.

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Why," said he, "you mortals call them by both names, but we scarcely understand your vocabulary." Aye, but these things are very mysterious. Heaven, you know, is above us, and Hell is below."

"So I used to think," he said, "when I was on earth. You, however, ought by this time to know in which condition you have been."

"That I understand well enough; but when you come to separate it theologically into abodes for the evil and the good, which I never thought of before, then it becomes a serious question. Heaven must be a very mysterious place."

"And is not Earth," said he, "a very mysterious place? Is not your whole earthly career beyond all fable? No metaphor, or trope, or symbol, or parable, can equal the real miracle of actual life. No poet has ever over-stated the beauty of your beautiful world; no metamorphosis is so startling as your startling existence. In fact, earth and air, sea and sun, mind and matter, reason and sensation, the spirit of the world and all its phantazies, are facts defying hyperbole or exaggeration."

“But mankind holds very strong opinions upon the distinction between the future fates of the bad and the good, Heaven being supposed to be the receptacle for virtue, and Hell for impenitent evil-doers and wicked men. Machiavelli said, naturally enough, that if such were the case, he would rather prefer the latter abode, because in Heaven he should only meet poor curates and plain women of unimpeachable chastity, but that in Hell he should have the privilege of living with all the dashing men of his time; nobles, politicians, and wits of the first order; ladies of the wardrobe, and grooms of the stole, and innumerable sticks in waiting; countesses and fine ladies of spirit and understanding; Lords of the Treasury, Privy Councillors, and Secretaries of State,