334 COLLOQUIA ENTOMOLOGICA. 



is not in love prate of his Dulcinea? Our bosoms beat not 

 with the hopes of our fathers, neither will those of our children 

 echo the throbbings of our own ; yet each individual bosom is 

 ever faithful to its own aspirations. What do you think of 

 when alone? for that is the test. Sweet is the smile that 

 succeeds to weeping ; sweet is the sun-gleam following a 

 shower ; sweet is the song of the nightingale at moonlit mid- 

 night; sweet, very sweet, is the voice of those we love; but 

 sweeter by far is that perfectly uninterrupted solitude when 

 we sit the centre of a halo of thought, when the mind asserts 

 its empire, proclaims its power, and, unfettered, dashes on- 

 wards whithersoever it will. Fame, Roey, is your happiness, 

 even though at present principally prospective ; but, on that 

 ground, none the less supreme ; for, let me tell you, a principal 

 character of happiness is stability, and that is the most un- 

 sullied which casts into futurity the longest shadow ; whereas, 

 unaccompanied by the idea of stability, all happiness, though 

 obvious, sunny, and glaring, like the great pyramid at noon, 

 is unsatisfactory, because, like that also, shadowless. Talk not 

 to me of disappointed hopes ; talk not to me of mankind, as 

 though your knowledge of them was a painful and afflicting 

 burden. Would you, I ask, unknow all that you know of 

 man, just to believe the world better than it is ? If there were 

 placed within your reach a cup of the waters of Lethe that 

 would instantly wash away all traces that good and evil had 

 for a series of years impressed, and leave the mind a perfect 

 vacuum, would you drink it ? No ! I answer for you, for I 

 know you better than you know yourself. Let me once more 

 entreat you to indulge less in idle speculation and morbid 

 thought ; you, who might astonish the world, are wasting 

 your hours, days, and years, while you see — 

 Erro. — 



When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved, 



Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then, 

 Or if, from their slumber, the veil be removed, 



Weep o'er them in silence and close it again. 

 But, oh ! if 'tis pain to remember how far 



From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam, 

 Be it bliss to remember, that thou wast the star 



That arose on his darkness and guided him home. 



Ent. How beautiful ! alas ! I have no such power. 



