m requital."

"What!" cried I, "among you do lovers never marry?"

"Lovers marry? Never!"

"Do married people never love one another?"

The Kohen shook his head.

"It unfortunately sometimes happens so," said he, "and then the result
is, of course, distressing. For the children's sake the parents will
often remain with one another, but in many cases they separate. No one
can tell the misery that ensues where a husband and wife love one
another."

The conversation grew insupportable. I could not follow the Kohen in
what seemed the wildest and maddest flights of fancy that ever were
known; so I began to talk of other things, and gradually the Kohen was
drawn to speak of his own life. The account which he gave of himself
was not one whit less strange than his previous remarks, and for this
reason I add it here.

"I was born," said he, "in the most enviable of positions. My father
and mother were among the poorest in the land. Both died when I was a
child, and I never saw them. I grew up in the open fields and public
caverns, along with the most esteemed paupers. But, unfortunately for
me, there was something wanting in my natural disposition. I loved
death, of course, and poverty, too, very strongly; but I did not have
that eager and energetic passion which is so desirable, nor was I
watchful enough over my blessed estate of poverty. Surrounded as I was
by those who were only too ready to take advantage of my ignorance or
want of vigilance, I soon fell into evil ways, and gradually, in spite
of myself, I found wealth pouring in upon me. Designing men succeeded
in winning my consent to receive their possessions; and so I gradually
fell away from that lofty position in which I was born. I grew richer
and richer. My friends warned me, but in vain. I was too weak to
resist; in fact, I lacked moral fibre, and had never learned how to
say 'No.' So I went on, descending lower and lower in the scale of
being. I became a capitalist, an Athon, a general officer, and finally
Kohen.

"At length, on one eventful day, I learned that one of my associates
had by a long course of reckless folly become the richest man in all
the country. He had become Athon, Melek, and at last Kohen Gadol. It
was a terrible shock, but I trust a salutary one. I at once resolved
to reform. That resolution I have steadily kept, and have at least
saved myself from descending any lower. It is true, I can hardly hope
to become what I once was. It is on