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He had expressed a somewhat similar idea in the first chapter of his Philothea, though I had not then noticed it. These are his words: "Devotion is nothing more than a spiritual agility and vivacity, helped by which charity acts more readily; or better, helped by which we more readily elicit acts of charity.
"Trust me, I said nothing whereby your modesty might be wounded," answered Philothea: "I wrote as I was moved; and I felt strong assurance that my words would waken a response in Philaemon's heart. But there is one subject, on which my mind is filled with foreboding. I hope you will leave Athens as soon as it is safe to return to Elis."
"And what did Pandaenus say to the wishes of his uncle?" asked Philothea. Eudora blushed slightly as she answered, "He tried to convince me that we should all be happier, if I would consent to the arrangement. I could not believe this; and Pandaenus was too proud to repeat his solicitations to a reluctant listener. I seldom see him; but when there is opportunity to do me service, he is very kind."
"Did Phidias express no anxiety concerning your unprotected situation?" inquired Philothea. "It was his wish that I should marry Pandaenus," answered Eudora; "but he urged the subject no farther, when he found that I regarded the marriage with aversion. On his death-bed he charged his nephew to protect and cherish me as a sister.
One black pebble alone appeared in the urn; and that was from the hand of Alcibiades. Clinias expressed his thanks, and holding up the statue of Urania, he added: "In token of gratitude for this boon, and for the life of a beloved grandfather, Philothea consecrates to Pallas Athenae this image of the star-worshipping muse; the gift of a munificent Ethiopian."
"I have not heard the rumours whereof you speak," replied Philothea. "What is it, my father?" "Hipparete went from Aspasia's house to her brother Callias, instead of the dwelling of her husband," rejoined Anaxagoras: "by his advice she refused to return; and she yesterday appealed to the archons for a divorce from Alcibiades, on the plea of his notorious profligacy.
One little girl filled the hands of the old philosopher with tender leaves, that the beautiful animals might come and eat; while another climbed his knees, and put her little fingers on his venerable head, saying, "Your hair is as white as the lamb's; will Philothea spin it, father?"
Yet, beautiful forms are ever with him, in infinite variety; for his quiescent soul has now undisturbed recollection of the divine archetypes in the ideal world, of which all earthly beauty is the shadow." "He is happy, then, though living in the midst of death," answered Philothea: "But does his memory retain no traces of his friends?" "One and one only," he replied.
"How could you have heard of it?" inquired Philothea, with an accent of strong surprise. "Alcibiades had a more eager curiosity than yourself," replied Eudora. "He soon ascertained the name of the lovely Canephorae that he saw in the Gardens of Urania; and he has never ceased importuning Aspasia, until you were persuaded to visit her house."
In tones of anguish, almost amounting to despair, Pericles exclaimed: "Oh, my son! my son! Why didst thou leave us? Why wast thou, so richly gifted of the gods, to be taken from us in thy youth? Oh, my son, why was I left to mourn for thee?" Instead of the usual shrieks and lamentations of Grecian women, Philothea said, in sad, heart-moving accents: "Paralus, farewell!
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