CHAPTER XVII.
When the scenes in some long diorama pass solemnly before us, there is sometimes one solitary object, contrasting, perhaps, the view of stately cities or the march of a mighty river, that halts on the eye for a moment, and then glides away, leaving on the mind a strange, comfortless, undefined impression.
Why was the object presented to us? In itself it seemed comparatively insignificant. It may have been but a broken column, a...
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