e same transparent pretence of giving exclusive
hearing of it to each. For a few moments AEnone remained in thoughtful
silence, with her head bowed upon her hand; recalling the scattered
fragments of the sonorous verses, and wondering why it was that, when
each line had seemed so perfect in itself, and every thought so pure and
noble in its purport and conception, the whole should have left upon her
mind such an undefinable impress of dissatisfaction.

Cleotos, with unobtrusive scrutiny, seemed to read her thoughts, for, at
the first intimation of her perplexity, he said:

'It is because the author of those verses has not sincerely felt the
full meaning of what he has there written. For, with whatsoever display
of ingenious and artistic skill fair sounding maxims of morality may be
expressed, yet, if they come not from the heart, their utterance must
seem hollow and unreal. I do not know this author--how or where he
lives. It may be that in his daily life he is outwardly all that could
be desired. But I know this--that he has written about virtue and death,
not because he loves the one and fears not the other, but simply
because, by a display of well-toned periods, he may more surely hope to
gain the applause of the arena and the smiles of the court.'

'But why should not these sentiments, though called into being by
personal ambition alone, give equal pleasure as if springing directly
from the heart? Are they not, after all, as true?'

'Nay, honored mistress, neither are they true. This is again where they
fail to please; for in your soul there is an instinct, though you may
not know of it, which forbids that such cold and unsatisfactory
reasoning should bring you comfort. He speaks of death: is it cheering
to be told that, though the gods have appointed death to every person,
they have given it, not as a veiled mercy, but rather as a dreadful
fate--that there is no certainty about our future condition, but that,
if we are destined to live again, it may be with the same evils
encompassing us which bind us now--and that the slave may then still be
a slave, destined forever to look up to and worship the high and mighty
ones who trampled on him here?'

'That is, in truth, no comfort,' said AEnone. And she bowed her head upon
her hands, and sadly thought how worthless to her would be the gift of
eternal life, if her present sorrows were to follow her. 'But what can
we do? If it were possible to discover and believe in