Every corpse is a sphinx of immortality. Thus, the present sphinx, in its black sarcophagus, recalled in the lines that the living man had penned only two days before:—
"Oh, mighty death! thy silence fills with awe,
'Tis churchyard graves alone that mark thy traces—
But by a ladder, such as Jacob saw,
Shall not our spirit mount to brighter places?
The greatest sorrows oft remain unknown!
Thou who wert lonely till thy day of dying,
By duties stern thy heart was more weighed down
Than by the earth upon thy coil now lying!"
Two figures were moving about the room. They are both known to us. One was the fairy named Care, and the other the ambassadress of Happiness.
"Look there," said Care. "What happiness did your goloshes afford mankind?"
"They have, at least, wrought a lasting good for him who is slumbering here," answered Joy.
"Not so," said Care. "He went away of himself, without being called. His intellectual powers were not strong enough to dig up the treasures he was destined to discover. I will confer a benefit upon him."
And she drew the goloshes off his feet, when the sleep of death ended, and he once more revived. Care disappeared, and with her the goloshes; she doubtless considered them to be her own property.
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SHE DREW THE GOLOSHES OFF HIS FEET, WHEN THE SLEEP OF DEATH ENDED, AND HE ONCE MORE REVIVED.
