ed-up fountain with
as much accuracy as from the surf of the open sea, that washes the foot
of the buried cities.

So, too, are the changes of that light, which streams from those
immortal deeds and sufferings that move the world, reflected in the
lives of humble mortals; and it would be no slight task to trace out
the signs of such a time not merely on the battle-field, but in the
homes and huts of those who were left behind.

A psychological study of war, such as we may expect from some one
better fitted for the task, will have to bring out this reverse side of
the medal sharply and clearly. But the novel steps back modestly when
its elder brother, the epic, in glittering armor and with clang of
arms, enters once more upon the world's arena. Where every individual
lot was so completely merged in the fate of the nation, we should give
the reader but a poor idea of our friends if we showed them as busy
with themselves, their personal aims, duties and interests. That each
of them had proved himself ready, according to his manner and ability,
Angelica's letter has already shown us. Therefore we are all the more
sorry that the excellent writer herself did not quite rise to the level
of the time.

It is true it never occurred to her to complain that the Eden-like
condition of a life devoted to art, and removed from all worldly
turmoil--where beauty is the highest aim of all striving, and that
alone has the right to existence which is perfect in itself--had
suddenly been destroyed, and had given place to a hard, merciless
reality. Upon the whole she had a warm appreciation of the magnitude of
the great historical issue at stake, and it filled her with joyful
enthusiasm to see how earnestly all who were connected with her, as
well as the whole people, felt the force of the old proverb that one
should make a virtue of necessity.

Yet in spite of all this her heart, usually so brave, was unable to
preserve this heroic spirit, that sustained many a weaker one, through
the long time of trial.

Even when taking leaving of Rosenbusch she had shown herself strong.
She felt it her duty not to make heavy her parting lover's heart, but
to give him, in her own person, an example of the way one should
sacrifice one's dearest wishes on the altar of the fatherland, with
smiling magnanimity. But this "_P[oe]te, non dolet_" revenged itself
upon her. Scarcely was she alone, when she reproached herself for
having pretended an unwomanly