"He goeth forth unto the unknown land,
Where wife nor child may follow; thus far tell
The lingering clasp of hand in faithful hand,
And that brief carven legend, Friend, farewell.

O pregnant sign, profound simplicity!
All passionate pain and fierce remonstrating
Being wholly purged, leave this mere memory,
Deep but not harsh, a sad and sacred thing." {1}


The lady chooses from a coffer a trinket, or a ribbon. It is her
last toilette she is making, with no fear and no regret. Again, the
long-severed souls are meeting with delight in the home of the just
made perfect.

Even in the Schools these scraps of Greek lapidary's work seem
beautiful to us, in their sober and cheerful acceptance of life and
death. We hope, in Oxford, that the study of ancient art, as well as
of ancient literature, may soon be made possible. These tangible
relics of the past bring us very near to the heart and the life of
Greece, and waken a kindly enthusiasm in every one who approaches
them. In Humphrey Prideaux's letters there is not a trace of any
such feeling. He does his business, but it is hack-work. In this he
differs from the modern student, but in his caustic description of
the rude and witless society of the place he is modern enough. In
his letters to his friend, John Ellis, of the State Paper Office, it
is plain that Prideaux wants to get preferment. His taste and his
ambition alike made him detest the heavy, beer-drinking doctors, the
fast "All Souls gentlemen," and the fossils of stupidity who are