As Dante gazed upon them, he bowed himself lower and lower, for he thought within himself, “I fear I am more like these people than I am like the others.” He had been a very proud and haughty man in the past, and now he knew how ugly and selfish that haughtiness was. As he ascended the road, he must have prayed to God to make him more like the beautiful and gentle people whose portraits he had seen upon the rocks at his side. He had been walking, bent very low; all at once he straightened himself up; he felt as if some great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He turned to Virgil, saying, “Master, from what heavy thing have I been lightened?” Virgil glanced up at his forehead. Dante stretched forth the fingers of his hand and slowly felt the letters which the angel had placed upon his forehead. There were but six. There had been seven. Virgil smiled, and the two passed on. Their ears caught the sounds of voices singing in sweet tones, “Blessed are the poor in spirit!” “Blessed are the poor in spirit!” Then Dante knew that the other souls, too, had prayed to God to take pride and haughtiness and selfishness out of their lives. They passed along the higher terrace on the mountain side, and here they saw no pictures, but heard strange, sweet voices singing through the air. These voices were singing of the people who had been glad when others were made happy, who had loved and praised the good in those about them, who had rejoiced when some one else besides themselves had been commended. The voices seemed so joyful as they told of these loving hearts, that Dante shut his eyes and listened. Soon he heard other voices tell of the people who had liked to talk of themselves and not of others, who did not care to hear anybody else praised, people whom it made unhappy to know that anybody else was happy. “Ah!” thought he to himself, “I fear, I fear that I have been like these last people of whom the voices tell such sad, unhappy things. How I long with all my heart to be freed from this hateful thing, called _Envy_!” Then again he prayed to God to help him to rejoice over the happiness of others, to be willing to help others, and to realize that others were helping him; and as he thought these thoughts and prayed this prayer, another burden seemed lifted from off him, and he put his hand to his forehead and found that another of the terrible letters was gone. He had but five remaining on his forehead now, and already the climbing seemed easier. They came soon to another very difficult passage in the road, and so rough and sharp were the rocks which stood in the pathway that Dante’s heart failed him, and he must have stopped in his onward journey up the mountain had not another loving angel of God come from some unseen point, and, lifting him with strong arms, carried him over the hard place, setting him again upon his feet. I think Dante must have thanked God for thus sending him help in his moment of [Illustration: Copyrighted 1892]