e theirs! All that is
great belongs to us, as well as to the classic world."

The doctor, laying his hand quietly upon Eric's knee, looked him full
in the eye, and then begged him, if he remained here, to make himself
thoroughly acquainted through him with the Rhine life, and not allow
himself to be misled, if he should find much that was repulsive both
inside and outside of the house. "And if you can--I believe you alone
can, if you can't, I give it up--confer upon the boy there, not merely
joy in what he has, but joy in the great life of the nation and of the
community, which now he has not, then you will have accomplished
something that is worth living for. But the main point is, while you
are doing this, to have no thought of self, and then the blessing will
not fail. This is what I understand by the direction, 'Seek ye first
the kingdom of God--that is, the life of truth and of love--and all
things shall be added unto you.' Roland," he interrupted himself by
calling, "stop here."

The doctor got out, and went into a small but neat-looking house; Eric
and Roland went to the gymnastic-grounds. They were regarded at first
with great shyness; but when Eric readily showed a fine-looking youth,
who went through some exercise clumsily, how to do it better, and when,
stripping off his coat, he swung with agility on the horizontal bar,
every one became more familiar. Roland also attempted some of the
exercises, without much success, and Eric said that they would practise
them diligently, but it was unfavorable that they would be obliged to
engage in them by themselves, for there was much greater animation and
exertion of all the powers, when there was a common emulation.

A messenger came to call Eric and Roland back to the house where the
doctor had stopped. Just as the physician came out of the house, the
church-bell tolled; all the bystanders took off their hats, even the
doctor, and he said,--

"A human being is dead; the man has lived out the term of existence; he
was seventy-two years old, and yet yesterday, on his death-bed, he
gained comfort in the recollection of a little deed of beneficence.
In the year of the famine, 1817, he was travelling as a journeyman
cooper over the Lunenburg heath--he continually called it the Hamburg
heath--where there was no road; and after several hours he came across
a wretched hovel, in which were several children crying from hunger.
The cooper had some dried eels, and some bread