draw no horoscopes; that we should expect little, for what we expect will not come to pass. Revolutions, reformations-those vast movements into which heroes and saints have flung themselves, in the belief that they were the dawn of the millenniumhave not borne the fruit which they looked for. Millenniums are still far away. These great convulsions leave the world changed—perhaps. improved; but not improved as the actors in them hoped it would be.

4. The most reasonable anticipations fail us-antecedents the most ap'pošite mislead us; because the conditions of human problems never repeat themselves. Some new feature alters everything-some element which we detect only in its after-operation. But this, it may be said, is but a meager outcome. Can the long records of humanity, with all its joys and sorrows, its sufferings and its conquests, teach us no more than this? Let us approach the subject from another side.

5. If you were asked to point out the special features in which Shakspeare's plays are so transcendently excellent, you would mention, perhaps, among others, this, that his stories are not put together, and his characters are not conceived to illus'trate any particular law or principle. They teach many lessons, but not any one prominent above another; and when we have drawn from them all the direct instruction which they contain, there remains still something unresolved-something which the artist gives, and which the philosopher can not give.

6. It is in this characteristic that we are accustomed to say Shakspeare's supreme truth lies. He represents real life. His drāmas teach as life teaches-neither less nor more. He builds his fabrics as nature does, on right and wrong; but he does not struggle to make nature more systematic than she is.

7. In the subtle interflow of good and evil—in the unmerited sufferings of innocence-in the disproportion of penalties to desert-in the seeming blindness with which justice, in attempting to assert itself, overwhelms innocent and guilty in a common ruin-Shakspeare is true to reäl experience. The mystery of life he leaves as he finds it; and, in his most tremendous positions, he is addressing rather the intellectual emotions than the understanding-knowing well that the understanding in such things is at fault, and the sage as ignorant as the child.

8. For history to be written with the complete form of a drama, doubtless is impossible; but there are periods, and these the periods, for the most part, of greatest interest to mankind. the history of which may be so written that the actors shall reveal their characters in their own words; where mind can be seen matched against mind, and the great passions of the epoch not simply be described as existing, but be exhibited at their white heat in the souls and hearts possessed by them.

9. There are all the elements of drama-drama of the highest order-where the huge forces of the times are as the Grecian destiny, and the power of the man is seen either stemming the stream till it overwhelms him, or ruling while he seems to yield to it. It is nature's drama-not Shakspeare's-but a drama none the less. So at least it seems to me.

10. Wherever possible, let us not be told about this man or that. Let us hear the man himself speak; let us see him act,. and let us be left to form our own opinions about him. The historian, we are told, must not leave his readers to themselves. He must not only lay the facts before them-he must tell them what he himself thinks about those facts. In my opinion, this is precisely what he ought not to do.

11. Philosophies of history, sciences of history-all these, there will continue to be; the fashions of them will change, as our habits of thought will change; each new philosopher will find his chief employment in showing that before him no one understood anything; but the drama of history is imperishable, and the lessons of it will be like what we learn from the great drămatists-lessons for which we have no words.

12. For the rest, none can tell what will be after us. Mankind, if they last long enough on the earth, may develop strange things out of themselves; but whether the end be seventy years hence, or seven hundred-be the close of the mortal history of humanity as far distant in the future as its shadowy beginnings seem now to lie behind us—this only we may foretell with confidence that the riddle of man's nature will remain unsolved. There will be that in him yet which physical laws will fail to explain that something, whatever it be, in himself and in the world, which science can not fathom, and which suggests the unknown possibilities of his origin and his destiny. Adapted from FROUDE.

JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE, an English historian and journalist, a son of the late Archdeacon Froude, was born at Dartington Rectory, Totness, Devonshire, in 1818. He took his degree from Oriel college, Oxford, in 1840, two years later obtained the chancellor's prize for an English essay, and was elected fellow of Exeter college. He studied for the ministry and was ordained deacon, but soon abandoned theology for literature. His first volume of stories, "The Shadows of the Clouds," was published in 1847; and his second work, "The Nemesis of Faith," in 1849. For about three years, he wrote almost constantly for "Frazer's Magazine," and the "Westminster Review." In 1856 the first two volumes of his "History of England, from the Fall of Wolsey to the Death of Elizabeth," appeared, and in 1858 the third and fourth. The boldness and originality of the author's views, not less than his attempt to vindicate the reputation of Henry VIII, have attracted much attention. In 1967 appeared his "Short Studies on Great Subjects."

II.

75. THE WESTERN WORLD.

ATE from this western shore, that morning chased

O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste,
Nurse of full streams, and lifter up of proud
Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud.
Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear,
Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud
Amid the forest; and the bounding deer

Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near.
2. And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay
Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim,

And cradles, in the soft embrace, the gay
Young group of grassy islands born of him,
And, crowding nigh, or in the distance dim,
Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring
The commerce of the world;-with tawny limb,
And belt and beads in sunlight glistening,
The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing.
3. Then, all his youthful paradise around,

And all the broad and boundlèss mainland lay,
Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned
O'er mound and vale, where never summer ray
Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way
Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild;

Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay,
Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild,
Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled.

4. There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake

Spreads its blue sheet that flashed with many an ōar,
Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake,
And the deer drank;-as the light gale flew o'er,
The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shōre;
And while that spot, so wild and lone and fair,

A look of glad and innocent beauty wore,
And peace was on the earth and in the air,
The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there:
5. Not unavenged-the foeman, from the wood,

Beheld the deed, and when the midnight shade
Was stillèst, gorged his battle-ax with blood;
All died-the wailing babe-the shrieking maid-
And in the flood of light that scathed the glade,
The roofs went down; but deep the silence grew,

When on the dewy woods the day beam played;
No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue,
And ever, by their lake, lay moored the light canoe.
6. Look now abroad-another race has filled

These populous borders-wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled;
The land is full of harvests and green meads;
Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds,
Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze,
Their virgin waters; the full region leads
New colonies forth, that toward the western seas
Spread, like a rapid flame, among the autumnal trees.

7. Here the free spirit of mankind at length

Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place
A limit to the giant's unchained strength,
Or curb his swiftnèss in the forward race.
Far, like the comet's way through infinite space,
Stretches the long untraveled path of light
Into the depths of ages: we may trace-
Afar, the brightening glory of its flight,
Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.

W. C. BRYANT.

III.

76. THE RANSOM OF ATAHUALLPA.

[ATAHUALLPA, inca of Peru at the time of the Spanish invasion, at a friendly interview, was informed of the mysteries of religion, and that, owing to the Peruvians' heathenism, the Pope had granted his empire to the Spaniards. Not consenting at once to resign his power, many of ATAHUALLPA'S unarmed attendants were massacred, and he was seized and imprisoned. Notwithstanding the ransom described below, the remorseless PIZARRO ordered his execution by the garotte.]

AT

TAHUALLPA' discovered, amidst all the show of religious zeal in his conquerors, a lurking appetite mōre potent in most of their bosoms than either religion or ambition. This was the love of gold. He determined to avail himself of it to procure his freedom. In the hope to effect his purpose, he one day told Pizarro that, if he would set him free, he would engage to cover the floor of the apartment on which they stood with gold.

2

2. Those present listened with an incredulous smile; and, as the inca received no answer, he said with some emphasis, that "he would not merely cover the floor, but would fill the room with gold as high as he could reach ;" and, standing on tiptoe, he stretched out his hand against the wall. All stared with amazement; while they regarded it as the insane boast of a man too eager to procure his liberty to weigh the meaning of his words. Yet Pizarro was sorely perplexed. As he had advanced into the country, much that he had seen, and all that he had heard, had confirmed the dazzling repōrts first received of the riches of Peru.

3. Atahuallpa himself had given him the most glowing picture of the wealth of the capital, where the roofs of the temples were plated with gold, while the walls were hung with tapestry, and the floors inlaid with tiles of the same precious metal. There must be some foundation for all this. At all events, it was safe to accede to the inca's proposition; since, by so doing, he could collect, at once, all the gold at his disposal, and thus prevent its being purloined or secreted by the natives. He therefore acquiesced in Atahuallpa's offer, and, drawing a red line along the wall at the height which the inca had indicated, he caused the terms of the proposal to be duly recorded by the notary.

1 Atahuallpa (å tå whål på).

2 Pizarro (pe zăr ro).