in the stillness of my own heart; and never yet, dear lady, have those
two oracles spoken the same language."

Then falling on her knees, and looking up earnestly, she exclaimed,
"Beautiful and gifted one! Listen to the voice that tries to win you
back to innocence and truth! Give your heart up to it, as a little child
led by its mother's hand! Then shall the flowers again breathe poetry,
and the stars move in music."

"It is too late," murmured Aspasia: "The flowers are scorched--the stars
are clouded. I cannot again be as I have been."

"Lady, it is _never_ too late," replied Philothea: "You have unbounded
influence--use it nobly! No longer seek popularity by flattering the
vanity, or ministering to the passions of the Athenians. Let young men
hear the praise of virtue from the lips of beauty. Let them see religion
married to immortal genius. Tell them it is ignoble to barter the
heart's wealth for heaps of coin--that love weaves a simple wreath of
his own bright hopes, stronger than massive chains of gold. Urge
Pericles to prize the good of Athens more than the applause of its
populace--to value the permanence of her free institutions more than the
splendour of her edifices. Oh, lady, never, never, had any mortal such
power to do good!"

Aspasia sat gazing intently on the beautiful speaker, whose tones grew
more and more earnest as she proceeded.

"Philothea," she replied, "you have moved me strangely. There is about
you an influence that cannot be resisted. It is like what Pindar says of
music; if it does not give delight, it is sure to agitate and oppress