they are nothing like in their minds; and vampire crystals eating out the hearts of others; and hermit-crab crystals living in the shells of others; and parasite crystals living on the means of others; and courtier crystals glittering in attendance upon others; and all these, besides the two great companies of war and peace, who ally themselves, resolutely to attack, or resolutely to defend.  And for the close, you see the broad shadow and deadly force of inevitable fate, above all this:  you see the multitudes of crystals whose time has come; not a set time, as with us, but yet a time, sooner or later, when they all must give up their crystal ghosts:—­when the strength by which they grew, and the breath given them to breathe, pass away from them; and they fail, and are consumed, and vanish away; and another generation is brought to life, framed out of their ashes.

Mary.  It is very terrible.  Is it not the complete fulfillment, down into the very dust, of that verse:  “The whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain?”

L. I do not know that it is in pain, Mary:  at least, the evidence tends to show that there is much more pleasure than pain, as soon as sensation becomes possible.

Lucilla.  But then, surely, if we are told that it is pain, it must be pain?

L. Yes; if we are told; and told in the way you mean, Lucilla; but nothing is said of the proportion to pleasure.  Unmitigated pain would kill any of us in a few hours; pain equal to our pleasures would make us loathe life; the word itself cannot be applied to the lower conditions of matter in its ordinary sense.  But wait till to-morrow to ask me about this.  To-morrow is to be kept for questions and difficulties; let us keep to the plain facts to-day.  There is yet one group of facts connected with this rending of the rocks, which I especially want you to notice.  You know, when you have mended a very old dress, quite meritoriously, till it won’t mend any more—­

Egypt (interrupting).  Could not you sometimes take gentlemen’s work to illustrate by?

L. Gentlemen’s work is rarely so useful as yours, Egypt; and when it is useful, girls cannot easily understand it.

Dora.  I am sure we should understand it better than gentlemen understand about sewing.

L. My dear, I hope I always speak modestly, and under correction, when I touch upon matters of the kind too high for me; and besides, I never intend to speak otherwise than respectfully of sewing;—­though you always seem to think I am laughing at you.  In all seriousness, illustrations from sewing are those which Neith likes me best to use; and which young ladies ought to like everybody to use.  What do you think the beautiful word “wife” comes from?

Dora (tossing her head).  I don’t think it is a particularly beautiful word.

L. Perhaps not.  At your ages you may think “bride” sounds better; but wife’s the word for wear, depend upon it.  It is the great word in which the English and Latin languages conquer the French and the Greek.  I hope the French will some day get a word for it, yet, instead of their dreadful “femme.”  But what do you think it comes from?