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like a wretched, puling craven, rises up and says: 'Why, then, if matters be so, let us e'en make the best of it!' Fortunately for the little whiners, destiny grants them no glimpse of the dread truth; more fortunately still for the world, those who do see into its terror are strengthened and nerved by the view, and they rise and go forth bravely into life and are true-hearted and merry and glad. He who in olden times passed through the terrors of Orphic and Ionaic and Cabiric mysteries, where he was taught the whole fearful secret of worldly agony, came not forth into weeping, but into wild delight and genial pleasure and glad, golden Truth; but it was not the weak tyros and puling obstinates who passed this mighty ordeal.

It is not unlikely that by this time some are beginning to ask impatiently, 'What in the name of common-sense is this Joyousness, this Hilariter philosophy which you preach so obscurely? To this I can only answer: Friends, it is a thing which will be first fully appreciated in the age to come. It is now in its beginning, as it will be in its fulness, a social development, and one which will require a thorough physical and moral training for the young, as well as mere intellectual cramming; and this latter must not be done at the rate of eight hours per diem, in unventilated, feverish school-rooms. Out of such education comes readily at the age of puberty, a love for morbid melancholy and unhealthy romance. Ay! it will require many another physical and metaphysical reform, now only in the bud. Therefore, you may see that the first principle of Joyousness is Health. Rely on it, that the first step toward purity of mind, toward all that is absolutely right, is a sound body. He who is perfectly well, with the ruddy glow of health in his cheek, firmly braced by vigorous exercise, his frame suffering from no early excesses, his blood untainted by no stimulants, is in the best condition to perceive the Beautiful. I know that the whole world has been diseased for thousands of years. I know that during its disease, it has had beautiful, delicate dreams; pictures by Fra Angelico, Orphic Hymns, beatific visions, Gothic sentiment, Edgar A. Poetry, and whole mythologies of saints and angels, Bhagvat Gheetas and Fenelon fancies. Yet the tender and delicate dreams all came from an unsound state of mind. There will yet come a Northern breeze, which will blow their spirit far away, leaving their mere forms to be regarded as curiosities; not respected as pure and healthy results of Nature.

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Of dungeons deep 'neath the castle-floor,
Which closed on the prisoner - nevermore
On its rusty hinges swung back the door.

'T was a fearful night in the mountain lone, And dread in the forest wild;

The giant trees were riven and torn,

And their boughs o'er the footpath piled.

The lightning flashed, the thunder roared,
The rain in floods descended,

The craggy steeps with rivers ran,

As if earth and heaven were blended.

And HEINRICH a lordly revel kept;

As the maddening wine went round,
The wind and rain were all unheard
In the laughter's jocund sound.

'Ho! ho! who knocks at my castle-gates,
And calls at the postern-door?'
'A traveller whom the storm belates,
With journey and travel sore.'

'Unbar the gates; sir knights, I trow

The time has been before

When a traveller entered my door, as now,
But forth went nevermore.

'For I am a good and kindly host,
And love my guests, they say,

So well, that those who enter here,
Forget to go away.'

Loud laughed his comrades as HEINRICH spoke,

And their cups again ran o'er,

When the door was oped, and in robe of gray,

A hermit stood before.

He fixed on the knight his piercing eye,

And scanned him o'er and o'er,

Till HEINRICH felt his face flush high,
As he never had felt before.

In scorn he spoke: 'Fill up the bowl
To the health of the holy friar ;
And tell us, graybeard, who art thou,
And what thy blest desire?'

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