ips parted as
if about to speak, and as I leaned forward to hear, I caught, in
distinct tone and thrilling accent, that word which had so often risen
to my own lips for utterance, and seared my very brain, because
unanswered--WHITHERWARD!

"Whitherward, indeed!" exclaimed I, aloud, shuddering at the sepulchral
sound of my voice. "Home," responded a tiny voice at my side, and
turning suddenly around, my eyes met those of a sweet little
school-girl, with a basket of flowers upon her arm, who had approached
me unobserved, and who evidently imagined I had addressed her when I
spoke. "Yes, little daughter," replied I, "'tis time to proceed
homeward, for the sun has ceased to gild the summit of Diavolo, and the
evening star is visible in the west. I will attend you home," and taking
her proffered hand, I descended the hill, with the dreadful word still
ringing in my ears, and the fadeless vision still glowing in my heart.

# # # # #

Midnight had come and gone, and still the book lay open on my knee. The
candle had burned down close to the socket, and threw a flickering
glimmer around my chamber; but no indications of fatigue or slumber
visited my eyelids. My temples throbbed heavily, and I felt the hot and
excited blood playing like the piston-rod of an engine between my heart
and brain.

I had launched forth on the broad ocean of speculation, and now
perceived, when too late, the perils of my situation. Above me were
dense and lowering clouds, which no eye could penetrate; around me
howling tempests, which no voice could quell; beneath me heaving
billows, which no oil could calm. I thought of Plato struggling with his
doubts; of Epicurus sinking beneath them; of Socrates swallowing his
poison; of Cicero surrendering himself to despair. I remembered how all
the great souls of the earth had staggered beneath the burden of the
same thought, which weighed like a thousand Cordilleras upon my own; and
as I pressed my hand upon my burning brow, I cried again and
again--WHITHERWARD! WHITHERWARD!

I could find no relief in philosophy; for I knew her maxims by heart
from Zeno and the Stagirite down to Berkeley and Cousin. I had followed
her into all her hiding-places, and courted her in all her moods. No
coquette was ever half so false, so fickle, and so fair. Her robes are
woven of the sunbeams, and a star adorns her brow; but she sits
impassive upon her icy throne, and wields no scepter but desp