, whom God does not
uphold in the hour of temptation, falls, and falls deeply."

"But it is not all really true?" added the boy, after some reflection.

"There is a good wholesome truth in the story," returned Tausdorf;
"only the painter has veiled it in images. The beautiful, wicked Circe
is intended to prefigure the human passions, the impulse of the senses.
Whoever empties her cup, she robs him of reason, and makes him like the
beasts in the wood. Recollect, Henry, how you were wrath, not long ago,
with your play-fellow for some trifle, and screamed, and struck about
you, and would not be satisfied,--then you had become a little wild
beast in your anger."

"I will not do so again," said Henry, ashamed and kissed the knight's
hand.

"But what is the meaning of the herb moly, which protected the great
hero from this enchantress?"

"It is religion," replied Tausdorf, embracing the boy in deep emotion.
"If in every purpose you remember that God looks on; if you ask
yourself whether it would be acceptable to him; and if in the slightest
doubt of this you abandon it, then you have got the right talisman
against sin."

"I will be truly good, Herr Tausdorf; I will, indeed," said the boy,
and gently rested his auburn head against the knight's breast, when the
sound of horses' feet was heard before the window.

"That is my mother!" he shouted, wiping away his tears, and running out
of the room. Tausdorf started from his seat--"Air! the child has made
me warm with his questions. It is hard to teach good to others, when
one has to accuse one's self of evil. Oh Circe! Circe!"

Again he looked at the picture of Ulysses.

"With armed hand the hero broke the mighty spell which held his
companions prisoners. He did his duty. Have I too done mine? I have
redeemed myself from the magic circle, but is that enough? Should I not
have taken the power of evil from this woman, who seems to have come
here to weave the meshes for some net of mischief, heaven only knows
what? If I did not choose to denounce the creature, should I not at
least have called the attention of the council to her, that no one
might come to harm? Yet no. In what she has done she has only wronged
myself. The ill that my denunciation might cause her would be revenge,
and that does not become a man towards frail woman. Let her do as she
pleases, we are all in God's hand."

"My dear friend!" exclaimed Althea, who then entered, and immediately
let go of Henry's