Into these pavilions he admitted the elect, and there, says Marco Polo, gave them to eat a certain herb, which transported them to Paradise, in the midst of ever-blooming shrubs, ever-ripe fruit, and ever-lovely virgins.

What these happy persons took for reality was but a dream; but it was a dream so soft, so voluptuous, so enthralling, that they sold themselves body and soul to him who gave it to them, and obedient to his orders as to those of a deity, struck down the designated victim, died in torture without a murmur, believing that the death they underwent was but a quick transition to that life of delights of which the holy herb, now before you, had given them a slight foretaste." "Then," cried Franz, "it is hashish! I know that--by name at least." "That is it precisely, Signor Aladdin; it is hashish--the purest and most unadulterated hashish of Alexandria,--the hashish of Abou-Gor, the celebrated maker, the only man, the man to whom there should be built a palace, inscribed with these words, 'A grateful world to the dealer in happiness.'" "Do you know," said Franz, "I have a very great inclination to judge for myself of the truth or exaggeration of your eulogies." "Judge for yourself, Signor Aladdin--judge, but do not confine yourself to one trial.

Like everything else, we must habituate the senses to a fresh impression, gentle or violent, sad or joyous.

There is a struggle in nature against this divine substance,--in nature which is not made for joy and clings to pain.

Nature subdued must yield in the combat, the dream must succeed to reality, and then the dream reigns supreme, then the dream becomes life, and life becomes the dream.