locked in the cerebrum cells of "gray matter", which we are pleased to
call our workshop.

What art gallery, what library can rival the sublime and beautiful
images that crowd the creased and folded labyrinth of the human brain;
as far beyond the ken and analysis of the biologist's microscope, as
some remote nebulae shining in blue gulfs of interstellar space, that
no telescopic Jense can ever discover, even as a faint blur of silvery
mist upon the black velvet vault that suns and planets spangle?

In some degree, Beryl's artistic dream had been realized; and the study
of years slowly flowered into a large painting, which represented
Antigone standing beside the heap of dust, strewn reverently to
sepulchre the form dimly outlined at her feet. The sullen red sunset of
a tempestuous day flared from the horizon, across a desolate plain;
showed the city walls in the background, the hungry vultures poised
high above the dead, the marauding dogs crouched in the wind-swept
sand, watching their banquet, decreed by the king. The dust had been
scattered from a black vase that bore on its front, in a circular
medallion, the lurid head of grinning Hecate; and the last rite to
appease the unquiet manes was performed by the uplifted right arm that
poured libations from a burnished brass urn, held aloft over the pall
of earth that denned the figure beneath. The left hand was stretched,
not heavenward, but shieldingly over the mound, and in the beautiful,
stern face bent a little downward in invocation of the infernal gods,
one read sublime self-surrender, grief for Oedipus, regret for Hasmon,
farewell to life,--mingled with exultant consciousness that a
successful sacrifice had been accomplished for Polynices, and that the
spirit of the brother rested in peace.

The soul of the artist seemed to look triumphantly through the solemn,
purplish blue eyes of the young martyr, and Beryl knew that her own
heart beat under the pamted folds of the diploidion; that she had
epitomized in a symbolic picture, the history of her own joyless youth.

The canvas had been framed and hung at the art exhibition of the new
"Museum", opened in September; and only the "U" traced in one corner
beneath an anchor, indicated that it was the work of the Umilta
Sisters' "Anchorage".

The public peered, puzzled, shook its sapient head, shrugged its
authoritative shoulders, and sundry criticisms crept into the journals;
but the prophet was judged in "his own c