"For a God _doth_ exist; and a Holy Will Is there still, though the human will palters; Over time, over space, the high thought floateth still. All glowing with life that ne'er falters; While all things move round in unceasing change, That spirit breathes peace through the heavenly range. "Oh! guard well these words within every breast, For on them rests Attica's glory; Proclaim and observe them, with increasing zest, They're the keys of Athena's story. No man can e'er forfeit his inward worth. While wisdom within to these words giveth birth." [Footnote 30: The German student will here recognize that this song is an imitation, or rather a translation adapted to the subject of Schiller's "Drei Worte neun' ich Euch, inhaltschwer." The infidelity of Chione, like that of modern times, does not hesitate to avail itself of truths learned from Christianity, when such truths can adorn their unsound philosophy; in fact, the truth that is in it, saves their theory; error cannot stand of itself.] Chione ceased. She had not shone as she was wont to do; she felt conscious that in palliating paganism to please the audience, she was paltering with her own conscience. When she proposed first to speak her address, she had intended to give a synopsis of the philosophy and poetry of Greece, and to avoid mythology; but the words she had heard had embittered her spirit, rendered it defiant; and half-angrily, half-sarcastically, had she uttered the sentiments we have recorded. There was not, however, the mesmeric sympathy between her and the assembled crowd that was wont to produce electric bursts of enthusiasm, albeit they agreed with the sentiments expressed. Her own enthusiasm had been quelled before commencing; she could not then communicate what she did not possess. But it had been previously arranged that she was to be crowned; she had been invited there for that purpose; therefore the figure representing Minerva ceased to hover in the air, came forward, and, to very sweet music, placed the crown on Chione's head. {67} Beauty, crowned by Wisdom's hand, Reigns triumphant in the land. Her scented dower Is music linked to poesy, In tones of heavenly harmony, Attuned to earth's necessity by Eloquence, bright power! The pause that succeeded was filled up with throwing of bouquets and shouts of congratulation. When a lull came, and Chione was about to give a parting salute to the spectators, these words came distinctly to her ear, though in so low a tone that they were inaudible to any but herself and those close to her: Earth's crown of glory is a crown of thorns; Such the Saviour's head adorns, Who died for thee. Crowned with thorns, for thee he bled. On the cross his life-blood shed. All for thee! Chione became very pale; she attempted to come forward, but fell back in the arms of her attendants; she had fainted. --------