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240 ARIADNE.made every breath apang tohim such as DanteIdmself neverconceived inhell.There is no justice upon earth:andhardly anyvengeance. AVhen we are young we hope forboth;but we wait and wait,and we grow old,and death comes, but on justice we never havelooked. Death makes all men equal, say thepreachers. Oh, terrible irony! Equal he thethe murdered and the murderer.Once more, and for ever, the sword and theclue of Athene dropped from her weary hands.Art ceased to exist toher; from the sight of thewhiteness ofmarble she shrank as from the sightof a murdered creature;from the calm changelesseyes of the statues she fled as from the gazeof an avenginggod.She was innocent:yetthe Erinnyspursuedher,and night and day she had norest. AVith eachhot month of the summer the spirit within herseemed to faint more and more, and her bodygrew weaker and weaker, tiU at length she coiddnot rise, but lay there stdl and mute as theyoung angels that lie on the tombs with foldedhands and then- wings drooped, waiting