So with the resolute undertaking of Argantes, in Tasso, to slay Tancred, the slayer of his betrothed; all the people applauding his resolve, and rejoicing in the assurance that this— “... boaster stout Would kill the prince who late had slain his love. O promise vain! it otherwise fell out. Men purpose, but high gods dispose above; For underneath his sword this boaster died, Whom there he scorned and threatened in his pride.” In Homer, again, how grieves Achilles, and, impetuous, vents to all his myrmidons his loud laments? “By what vain promise, gods! did I engage, When, to console Menætius’ feeble age, I vowed his much-loved offspring to restore; Charged with rich spoils to fair Opuntia’s shore. But mighty Jove cuts short, with just disdain, The long, long views of poor designing man!” _A PURSEBEARER’S PROTEST AGAINST PURPOSELESS WASTE._ ST. JOHN xii. 5. It was very costly ointment of spikenard that Mary took and anointed therewith the feet of Jesus, so that the house was filled with the odour of the ointment. So costly, that it set one of His apostles to work, counting the cost. Judas Iscariot was this ready reckoner. He was conversant with figures. He was the pursebearer of the apostolic circle, and knew, it seems, how and when and why to keep a tight finger on the purse-strings. The wasted contents—waste he accounted it—of that alabaster box might have been sold for three hundred denarii, and the proceeds given to the poor. As pursebearer he protested. And nominally his protest was in behalf of the poor. Referring to that text in Exodus which tells how the people brought much more than enough for the service of the work which the Lord commanded to make, the question was put by a divine who, being dead, yet speaketh: When will the earth again hear that glad announcement? Yet, until we bring more than enough, he said, at least until there is kindled in us a spirit which will make us desire to do so, we shall never bring enough. “And ought we not? Your economists will say _No._ They who would think the sun a useful creature, if he would come down from the sky and light their fires, will gravely reprehend such wasteful extravagance.” This last figure of speech has its parallel in Mr. Carlyle’s estimate of “the uses of this Dante:” he declines to say much about his “uses;” he holds that an influence working, like Dante’s, into the depths of our existence, and feeding through long times the life-roots of all excellent things whatsoever, is not to be very satisfactorily computed by “utilities.” Dante shall therefore be invaluable, or of no value: “We will not estimate the sun by the quantity of gas-light it saves us.”