instances, is the open sesame to the hidden treasures of meaning in an artist's special achievement.

At the end of our delightful tour of inspection, we find perfect repose in the contemplation of "Human Understanding," so exquisitely typified in the dome of the rotunda. Ethereal whites and blues, tenderly blending with faintest greens and violets, bring to us far-off, touching echoes of the grand symphony of color to which we have just been listening; while the sublime, sentient beauty of the painting itself suggests words for this distant, heavenly music,--Above-Beyond!

How clearly, then, in responsive reverberation, we hear the kindred thought-echo,

Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.

The Quotations and Inscriptions have been collected in the form of a convenient book of reference, as they constitute one of the most unique ana attractive features of the Library.

For the sake of perspicuity, occasional mention has been made of the subject of a painting or poem, or the location of a set of inscriptions.

E. L. W.

SUNBEAMS OF THOUGHT

IN THE

CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY.

UNDER THE MARBLE MOSAIC, THE MINERVA OF PEACE.

Nil invita Minerva, quæ monumentum ære perennius exegit.

Not unwilling, Minerva erects a monument

more lasting than brass.

HORACE. Ars Poetica. Line 385; Carm., iii., 30, 1.

Knowledge is power.

BACON. Religious Meditations. Of Heresies.

Give instruction unto those who cannot pro

cure it for themselves.

CONFUCIUS. Bk. xiii., Sec. 9.

The poets who, on earth, have made us heirs
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

WORDSWORTH. Personal Talk.

Sonnet iv.

ORPHEUS.

One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

JASON.

TENNYSON. Ulysses.

A glorious company, the flower of men,
To serve as model for the mighty world,
And be the fair beginning of a time.

TENNYSON. Idylls of the King. Guinevere.

PROMETHEUS.

To the souls of fire, I, Pallas Athena, give more fire, and to those who are manful, a might more than man's.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

Greek Heroes. Perseus.

ACHILLES.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,

Where are thy men of might, thy grand in soul?
Gone-glimmering thro' the dream of things

that were.

BYRON. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii., Stanza 2.

THALIA.

Descend, ye Nine! descend and sing;
Wake into voice each silent string.

POPE. Ode on St. Cecilia's Day.

TERPSICHORE.

O heaven-born sisters! source of Art!

Who charm the sense, or mend the heart.

Pope. Two Choruses to the Tragedy of Brutus.

POLYHYMNIA

Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore;
And in the West bid Athens rise once more? *

POPE. Two Choruses to the Tragedy of Brutus.

IN THE LIBRARIAN'S ROOM.**

Litera scripta manet.

That which is written endures.

Liber delectatio animæ.

Books, the delight of the soul.

Efficiunt clarum studio.

Study, the watchword of fame.

Dulces ante omnia musæ.

The muses, above all things, delightful.

In tenebris lux.

In darkness light.

"L'ALLEGRO."

Come, thou Goddess, fair and free,
In heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne,

And by men, heart-easing mirth.

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

Jest, and youthful Jollity,

Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathéd Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,

And love to live in dimple sleek.

*Altered from the following line:

MILTON. L'Allegro, 11; 25.

"Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more.'

**These inscriptions are from unknown authors.

"IL PENSEROSO.”

Hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy,
Hail, divinest Melancholy.

Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step, and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes :
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble.

MILTON. Il Penseroso, 11; 37.

"UNEXPRESSED.”

Dwells within the soul of every Artist
More than all his effort can express.

No great Thinker ever lived and taught you
All the wonder that his soul received.

No true Painter ever set on canvas

All the glorious vision he conceived,

No Musician

But be sure he heard, and strove to render
Feeble echoes of celestial strains.

No real Poet ever wove in numbers

All his dream.

Love and Art united

Are twin mysteries; different, yet the same.