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Rh part of the marble temple? but there the living victim is offered in sacrifice, and the wreath of flowers left to wither. The fine arts, they which add so much to the adornment of their time—it is a sad page in life in which their annals are written. How few among the statues which stand in grace and power, till they seem the incarnation of the diviner part of our nature—how few among the pictures which shed their dream-like beauty on our walls—how few of these but are the fruit of lives passed in toil, in want, in the heart-burning of hope whose fulfilment comes not, and of cares that eat away the very soul! Look at the many diseases to which skill is of no avail—look at the many crimes, and crimes committed, too, by the educated, who have been trained from their youth upwards in good. Or look only within your own heart, and see there the germ of every sin and every sorrow;—and then tell me of the perfectibility or the happiness of humanity. In another world, "the wicked may cease from troubling, and the weary be at rest;" but not in a world like ours—the weak, the erring, and the fallen. We forget we are living under a curse; and who can recall that curse save the God who pronounced it?