a woman of immense, but perfect proportions; the other a winged child. The third is an enormous statue revealing the touch of genius, stationed near the others, possibly for contrast to prove the progress of Art. Exquisite in perfection, every line and curve wrought by a master's hand, a man and woman smile upon each other out of shapeless stone, her lovely head rests upon his massive shoulders, his arms clasp her perfect form closely. Art has progressed little since then and now is rapidly approaching the abnormal. From these three monstrous carvings we judge, hence: Love is a primitive desire; Fancy, a cultivation of early civilization, and Knowledge crowns all. I would know more of this powerful, forceful science that once controlled the world."
She rose and moved slowly toward the dim interior of this leafy retreat and sank upon a mossy bank near the refreshing coolness of perfumed waters. I flung myself at her feet. A huge instrument resembling a harp was wheeled towards her. It had two sets of golden wires in a casement of crystal. Her white hands strayed idly over the wires—the vision in the burning globe was before me—then under her powerful touch a volume of music rang—sweet, wild melody, and she who declared Love a dead science portrayed upon her instrument all the emotions of the human heart. Deep tones of passion thrilled and trembled, the strident howl of rage, hatred; the laugh of envy, the wail of anguish, all rang out clearly beneath her inspired touch. I gazed at her in doubt and