treasure within,
carrying treasure forth without. No Great Eastern ever carried a cargo
that was comparable for vastness and richness with that voyaging
forward in the mind.

Now the power and skill of God is nowhere more manifest than in this.
He has endowed the mind with full power to carry forward all its joys,
its friendships and victories. It is given to man to journey in a
single summer over that pathway along which the human race has
walked. For happiness and culture the traveler lingers by some
Runnymede or Marston Moor; stays by castle or cathedral, remains long
in gallery or museum. It is the necessity of his body for the traveler
to leave the mountain behind him when he returns to the city in the
plain. But it is the privilege of the mind to take up these sights and
scenes and carry them away as so much treasure made portable by
memory. By a secret process mountains and valleys and palaces are
reduced in size, photographed and put away ready to be enlarged to the
original proportions.

We have already heard of the inventor who planned an engine that laid
its track and took it up again while it journeyed forward. But this
mechanical dream is literally fulfilled in memory. Grown old and
blind, each Milton may pass before his mind all the panorama of the
past, to find the events of childhood more helpful in memory than they
were in reality. Looking backward, Longfellow reflected that the paths
of childhood had lost their roughness; each way was bordered with
flowers; sweet songs were in the air; the old home was more beautiful
than king's palaces that had opened to his manhood's touch.

Similarly, Dante, storm-beaten, harassed, weary of selfishness,
voyaged and traveled into that foreign land that he called "youth."
There he hid himself until the storms were passed. For him memory held
so much that was bright and beautiful that it became to him a
portfolio of engravings, a gallery of pictures, a palace of many
chambers. Hidden therein, earth's troubles became as harmless as hail
and snow upon tiled castle roofs. Men wonder oft how statesmen and
generals and reformers, oppressed beyond endurance, have borne up
under their burdens. This is their secret: they have sheltered
themselves in the past, found medicines in memory, bathed themselves
in old-time scenes that refreshed and cleansed away life's grime. From
the chill of arctic enmity, it is given to the soul through memory to
rise above the storm and cold a