hought. After a time she
said. "And what did you teach her?"

"If you'll not repeat it, to injure the child's character: in
philosophy. To be sure it didn't last long."

"In philosophy? Is that a suitable study for us women? I thought it was
only fit for men."

"So most men think, and that's why my little philosopher would find it
hard to get a husband, if it should be noised abroad that she had taken
lessons from me."

"That danger, as you know, would not frighten me, if you would take me
for a pupil. But I fear I should disgrace you. I've learned too little
and read too many novels."

"Novels are not the worst introduction to philosophy. Don't you think
that Pere Goriot affords more food for the thought, than many a text
book placed in the higher schools for girls and which does not contain
a syllable about what is called life?"

"It depends upon who reads it. I've had a great many thoughts. But they
were so sad that they cannot have been the right philosophy, at least
not yours; for you're always cheerful, so the world must wear quite a
different aspect to you in your wisdom, from what it does to me in my
stupidity."

"Very possibly," he said smiling. "But we must first prove it. You must
tell me your thoughts, and I will tell you mine. Afterwards we'll see
against which there are the fewest objections."

"And is there nothing more in philosophy? Did you make no farther
progress in your lessons to that young lady?"

"Oh! no. I began with her at the A. B. C, told her how, from the most
ancient times, thoughtful men had demonstrated the relations of things
in the world and what singular dreams about origin and decay, soul and
body, gods and spirits they had had. I'll wager that if you had
listened, you would not have been bored; for you have a tendency toward
melancholy, and philosophy is like a magic lantern; the clear outlines
of the pictures of the world it conjures up can only appear on a dark
background, but on that dark background is thrown the real brightness,
the light that brings cheerfulness and peace, while the common every
day sunlight, like ordinary human reason, is only sufficient for the
every day restless flickering dawn."

She made no reply and gazed steadily into vacancy with a charmingly
thoughtful expression.

After a pause she said: "And is any real goal reached? After pondering
over everything, do we know something definite, something that cannot
be called in question?"

"Yes and