opening
upon a portico of Corinthian columns, running its entire length and
which would not disgrace Palmyra itself. At the eastern extremity, are
the rooms common to the family; in the centre, a spacious hall, in the
adorning of which, by every form of art, I have exhausted my knowledge
and taste in such things; and at the western extremity, my library,
where at this moment I sit, and where I have gathered around me all in
letters and art that I most esteem. This room I have decorated for
myself and Julia--not for others. Whatever has most endeared itself to
our imaginations, our minds, or our hearts, has here its home. The books
that have most instructed or amused; the statuary that most raises and
delights us; the pictures on which we most love to dwell; the
antiquities that possess most curiosity or value, are here arranged, and
in an order that would satisfy, I believe, even your fastidious taste.

I will not weary you with any more minute account of my new dwelling,
leaving that duty to the readier pen of Julia. Yet I cannot relieve you
till I have spoken of two of the statues which occupy the most
conspicuous niche in the library. You will expect me to name Socrates
and Plato, or Numa and Seneca--these are all there, but it is not of
either of them that I would speak. They are the venerable founders of
the Jewish and Christian religions, MOSES and CHRIST. These statues, of
the purest marble, stand side by side, at one extremity of the
apartment; and immediately before them, and within the wondrous sphere
of their influences stands the table at which I write, and where I
pursue my inquiries in philosophy and religion. You smile at my
enthusiasm, Fausta, and wonder when I shall return to the calm sobriety
of my ancient faith. In this wonder there are a thousand errors--but of
these hereafter. I was to tell you of these sculptures. Of the statue of
Moses, I possess no historical account, and know not what its claim may
be to truth. I can only say, it is a figure truly grand, and almost
terrific. It is of a size larger than life, and expresses no sentiment
so perfectly as authority--the authority of a rigorous and austere
ruler--both in the attitude of the body and the features of the
countenance. The head is slightly raised and drawn back, as if
listening, awe-struck, to a communication from the God who commissioned
him, while his left hand supports a volume, and his right grasps a
stylus, with which, when the voic