ears to him under the form of a gigantic eagle, whose wings stir
him like the cannon's roar, the trumpet's call; he yields to the
temptation, and the Guardian Angel pleads no more! He determines to
become great, renowned, to rule over men: political power is to console
him for the domestic ruin he has spread around him, in having preferred
the dreams of his own excited imagination, to the love and faith of the
simple but tender heart which God had confided to him in the holy bonds
of marriage. The love and deification of self in the delusive show of
military or political glory, is the lowest and last temptation into
which a noble soul can fall, for individual fame is preferred to God's
eternal justice, and men are willing to die, if only laurel crowned,
with joy and pride even in a bad cause.

In the beginning of the third part of the comedy we are introduced into
the 'new world.' The old world, with its customs, prejudices,
oppressions, charities, laws, has been almost destroyed. The details of
the struggle, which must have been long and dreadful, are not given to
us; they are to be divined. Several years are supposed to have passed
between the end of the second and the beginning of the third part, and
we are called to witness the triumphs of the victors, the tortures of
the vanquished. The character of the idol of the people is an admirable
conception. All that is negative and destructive in the revolutionary
tendencies of European society, is skilfully seized upon, and incarnated
in a single individual. _His mission is to destroy._ He possesses a
great intellect, but no heart. He says: "_Of the blood we shed to-day,
no trace will be left to-morrow._" In corroboration of this conception
of the character of a modern reformer, it is well known that most of the
projected reforms of the last century have proceeded from the brains of
logicians and philosophers.

This man of intellect succeeds in grasping power. His appearance speaks
his character. His forehead is high and angular, his head entirely bald,
his expression cold and impassible, his lips never smile--he is of the
same type as many of the revolutionary leaders during the French reign
of terror. His name is Pancratius, which name, from the Greek, signifies
the union of all material or brutal forces. It is not by chance that he
has received this name. The profound truth in which this character is
conceived is also manifested in his distrust of himself, in his
hesi