ted in
the management of the affairs of the world--if education was a benefit to
some, why was it not a benefit to others? Could some avoid abusing it,
any more than others could avoid turning it to a profitable account? I
did not see how they could; this poor simple woman found a book in her
mother's closet; a book, which was a capital book for those who could
turn it to the account for which it was intended; a book, from the
perusal of which I felt myself wiser and better, but which was by no
means suited to the intellect of this poor simple woman, who thought that
it was written in praise of thieving; yet she found it, she read it,
and--and I felt myself getting into a maze, what is right, thought I?
what is wrong? Do I exist? Does the world exist? if it does, every
action is bound up with necessity.

"Necessity!" I exclaimed, and cracked my finger joints.

"Ah, it is a bad thing," said the old woman.

"What is a bad thing?" said I.

"Why, to be poor, dear."

"You talk like a fool," said I, "riches and poverty are only different
forms of necessity."

"You should not call me a fool, dear; you should not call your own mother
a fool."

"You are not my mother," said I.

"Not your mother, dear?--no, no more I am; but your calling me fool put
me in mind of my dear son, who often used to call me fool--and you just
now looked as he sometimes did, with a blob of foam on your lip."

"After all, I don't know that you are not my mother."

"Don't you, dear? I'm glad of it; I wish you would make it out."

"How shall I make it out? who can speak from his own knowledge as to the
circumstances of his birth? Besides, before attempting to establish our
relationship, it would be necessary to prove that such people exist."

"What people, dear?"

"You and I."

"Lord, child, you are mad; that book has made you so."

"Don't abuse it," said I; "the book is an excellent one, that is,
provided it exists."

"I wish it did not," said the old woman; "but it sha'n't long; I'll burn
it, or fling it into the river--the voices at night tell me to do so."

"Tell the voices," said I, "that they talk nonsense; the book, if it
exists, is a good book, it contains a deep moral; have you read it all?"

"All the funny parts, dear; all about taking things, and the manner it
was done; as for the rest, I could not exactly make it out."

"Then the book is not to blame; I repeat that the book is a good book,
and contains deep moralit