Therefore, to record that elevation, to be the historian of the present in its deepest significance, the noblest occupation.  Dwelling, as an artist must dwell, in the deep life of his theme, his work must go forth utterly new, alive, and startling.

Thus did we find the “Flight into Egypt” a picture full of the spirit of that marvellous age, hallowed by the sweet mystery which all these years have given.  Who of those who were so fortunate as to see this work of Mr. Page will ever forget the solemn, yet radiant tone pervading the landscape of sad Egypt, along which went the fugitives?  Nothing ever swallowed by the insatiable sea, save its human victims, is more worthy of lament than this lost treasure.

Thus, too, is the grandest work of Mr. Page’s life, the Moses with hands upheld above the battle.  Were we on the first page instead of the last, we could not refrain from describing it.  Yet in its presence the impulse is toward silence.  We feel, that, viewed even in its mere external, it is as simple and majestic as the Hebrew language.  The far sky, with its pallid moon,—­the deep, shadowy valley, with its ghostly warriors,—­the group on the near mountain, with its superb youth, its venerable age, and its manhood too strong and vital for the destructive years;—­in the presence of such a creation there is time for a great silence.

KNITTING SALE-SOCKS.

“He’s took ’ith all the sym’t’ms,—­thet ’s one thing sure!  Dretful pain in hez back an’ l’ins, legs feel ’s ef they hed telegraph-wires inside ‘em workin’ fur dear life, head aches, face fevered, pulse at 2.40, awful stetch in the side, an’ pressed fur breath.  You guess it’s neuralogy, Lurindy?  I do’no’ nothin’ abeout yer high-flyin’ names fur rheumatiz. I don’t guess so!”

“But, Aunt Mimy, what do you guess?” asked mother.

“I don’ guess nothin’ at all,—­I nigh abeout know!”

“Well,—­you don’t think it’s”——­

“I on’y wish it mebbe the veryaloud,—­I on’y wish it mebbe.  But that’s tew good luck ter happen ter one o’ the name.  No, Miss Ruggles, I—­think—­it’s—­the raal article at first hand.”

“Goodness, Aunt Mimy! what”——­

“Yes, I du; an’ you’ll all hev it stret through the femily, every one; you needn’t expect ter go scot-free, Emerline, ’ith all your rosy cheeks; an’ you’ll all hev ter stay in canteen a month ter the least; an’ ef you’re none o’ yer pertected by vaticination, I reckon I”——­

“Well, Aunt Mimy, if that’s your opinion, I’ll harness the filly and drive over for Dr. Sprague.”

“Lor’! yer no need ter du thet, Miss Ruggles,—­I kin kerry yer all through jest uz well uz Dr. Sprague, an’ a sight better, ef the truth wuz knowed.  I tuk Miss Deacon Smiler an’ her hull femily through the measles an’ hoopin’-cough, like a parcel o’ pigs, this fall.  They du say Jane’s in a poor way an’ Nathan’l’s kind o’ declinin’; but, uz I know they say it jest ter spite me, I don’ so much mind.  You a’n’t gwine now, be ye?”