WHAT

OPEN QUESTIONS.

HAT legislators sometimes say is true of all questions: they may be divided. Life looks like a page disfigured with interrogation-points; and every answer breeds new curiosity, as if it were a polyp. The child is an incarnate question, posing all his elders; and the widening circle of light subtends such a broader round of darkness as to give color to the old sage's remark, "One thing I know, that God hates inquisitiveness;" while many, like Lord Bacon, value investigation superficially for its results of utility, despairing of absolute truth. But experience and memory are tests that all inquiry is intrinsically precious. I call to mind a college excursion with the mathematical professor, to measure with instruments, by triangulation, the distance between some towns in Maine. How far it was I have long since forgot, but not the wonderful delight of the experiment, the new dignity of the search for hill-tops of observation, nor the cup of tamarind water a good woman, honoring our errand, gave to the thirsty, foot-sore wanderers by the way. We are glad at every solution of a