whispers restrain the vicious, and
animate the wavering wretch who stands suspended between virtue and vice.

Sagestus had spent a night in the cavern, as he often did, and he left
the silent vestibule of the grave, just as the sun, emerging from the
ocean, dispersed the clouds, which were not half so dense as those he had
left. All that was human in him rejoiced at the sight of reviving life,
and he viewed with pleasure the mounting sap rising to expand the herbs,
which grew spontaneously in this wild--when, turning his eyes towards the
sea, he found that death had been at work during his absence, and
terrific marks of a furious storm still spread horror around. Though the
day was serene, and threw bright rays on eyes for ever shut, it dawned
not for the wretches who hung pendent on the craggy rocks, or were
stretched lifeless on the sand. Some, struggling, had dug themselves a
grave; others had resigned their breath before the impetuous surge
whirled them on shore. A few, in whom the vital spark was not so soon
dislodged, had clung to loose fragments; it was the grasp of death;
embracing the stone, they stiffened; and the head, no longer erect,
rested on the mass which the arms encircled. It felt not the agonizing
gripe, nor heard the sigh that broke the heart in twain.

Resting his chin on an oaken club, the sage looked on every side, to see
if he could discern any who yet breathed. He drew nearer, and thought he
saw, at the first glance, the unclosed eyes glare; but soon perceived
that they were a mere glassy substance, mute as the tongue; the jaws were
fallen, and, in some of the tangled locks, hands were clinched; nay, even
the nails had entered sharpened by despair. The blood flew rapidly to his
heart; it was flesh; he felt he was still a man, and the big tear paced
down his iron cheeks, whose muscles had not for a long time been relaxed
by such humane emotions. A moment he breathed quick, then heaved a sigh,
and his wonted calm returned with an unaccustomed glow of tenderness; for
the ways of heaven were not hid from him; he lifted up his eyes to the
common Father of nature, and all was as still in his bosom, as the smooth
deep, after having closed over the huge vessel from which the wretches
had fled.

Turning round a part of the rock that jutted out, meditating on the ways
of Providence, a weak infantine voice reached his ears; it was lisping
out the name of mother. He looked, and beheld a blooming child lea