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Six tumbrils roll along the streets. Change these back again to

what they were, thou powerful enchanter, Time, and they shall be

seen to be the carriages of absolute monarchs, the equipages of

feudal nobles, the toilettes of flaring Jezebels, the churches

that are not my father's house but dens of thieves, the huts of

millions of starving peasants! No; the great magician who

majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator, never

reverses his transformations. "If thou be changed into this shape

by the will of God," say the seers to the enchanted, in the wise

Arabian stories, "then remain so! But, if thou wear this form

through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!"

Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrils roll along.