in the crime; and owns no philosophy that sets him
free from the fetters of man. Not in vain do we scan all the contrasts
in the large framework of civilized earth if we note "when the dust
groweth into hardness, and the clods cleave fast together." Range, O
Art, through all space, clasp together in extremes, shake idle wealth
from its lethargy, and bid States look in hovels where the teacher is
dumb, and Reason unweeded runs to rot! Bid haughty Intellect pause in
its triumph, and doubt if intellect alone can deliver the soul from its
tempters! Only that lives uncorrupt which preserves in all seasons the
human affections in which the breath of God breathes and is. Go forth
to the world, O Art, go forth to the innocent, the guilty, the wise, and
the dull; go forth as the still voice of Fate! Speak of the insecurity
even of goodness below; carry on the rapt vision of suffering Virtue
through "the doors of the shadows of death;" show the dim revelation
symbolled forth in the Tragedy of old,--how incomplete is man's destiny,
how undeveloped is the justice divine, if Antigone sleep eternally in
the ribs of the rock, and Oedipus vanish forever in the Grove of the
Furies. Here below, "the waters are hid with a stone, and the face
of the deep is frozen;" but above liveth He "who can bind the sweet
influence of the Pleiades, and loose the bands of Orion." Go with Fate
over the bridge, and she vanishes in the land beyond the gulf! Behold
where the Eternal demands Eternity for the progress of His creatures and
the vindication of His justice!

It was past midnight, and Lucretia sat alone in her dreary room; her
head buried on her bosom, her eyes fixed on the ground, her hands
resting on her knees,--it was an image of inanimate prostration and
decrepitude that might have moved compassion to its depth. The door
opened, and Martha entered, to assist Madame Dalibard, as usual, to
retire to rest. Her mistress slowly raised her eyes at the noise of the
opening door, and those eyes took their searching, penetrating
acuteness as they fixed upon the florid nor uncomely countenance of the
waiting-woman.

In her starched cap, her sober-coloured stuff gown, in her prim,
quiet manner and a certain sanctified demureness of aspect, there was
something in the first appearance of this woman that impressed you with
the notion of respectability, and inspired confidence in those steady
good qualities which we seek in a trusty servant. But more close