e form of _realities_. The harsh rock of bygone
experience stands between them and the truths of the present. Seating
themselves immovably upon it, the surging life-stream hurtles on far
below, bearing them not forward on its hurrying flow. Withered garlands
and the ashes of once fiery hearts drift on; shattered wrecks, with torn
sails and broken masts, driven and tossed by eternal whirlwinds, appear
and vanish in the river's rush; but the old remain motionless above. The
hot rain of stars forever falling there dies out with dull moan, while
the glad waves and white foam laugh as the ruined wrecks toss helplessly
in the strong winds; but the aged heed it not: they have grown into one
with the rock of the past, they build air castles over the roaring
depths, they look upon the waves, as they surge into each other, as
stable altars of peace and happiness. They command their sons and
daughters to vow faith in the light of the past, but ere the oath is
fully spoken, the altar is under other skies, encircled by other
horizons!

* * * * *

Surrounded by friends in gay attire, the bridegroom, full of life and
vigor, rushes into the church. He wears a national dress, _but his
nation is not that of the old man_. The crowd disperse from right to
left as he passes on, greeting him with lowly bows: scarcely deigning to
return the courtesy, he clatters up the aisle with rapid stride, and
stands by the side of the kneeling bride. He places his lips to the ear
of the old man, and whispers to him; they converse in low tones, the old
man with an air of regal authority, the young one gesturing rapidly with
his hands.

The bishops now slowly approach, the tapers are lighted upon the altar,
a solemn silence falls upon the holy temple, two hands, two souls are to
be united forever! A shiver of awe thrills through the assembly.

* * * * *

The beams of the setting sun pour in through the stained panes of the
windows their lines of crimson light, as if streams of blood were
flowing through the church. Deepening in the approaching twilight, they
fall in their dying splendor on the brow of a man who stands alone in
one of the side chapels. The figure of a dead hero extended upon a
monument lies near him, as, immovable as the statue itself, he stands
with his gaze riveted upon the altar whence the bishop addresses the
bride. The crimson light falling full upon him betrays the sec