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ing to have the matter tried, and against one | Archbishop Spaulding, on my return from who offers to submit to justice you must not proceed as against a criminal until his cause has been heard. In the mean time, prepare for war. This decision will be the best for yourselves and the most formidable to your enemies."

Translation of B. JOWETT, M. A.

AMERICAN RELIGIOUS LIBERTY.

THANK GOD, we live in a country where liberty of conscience is respected, and where civil constitution holds over us the ægis of her protection, without intermeddling with ecclesiastical affairs. From my heart I say, "America, with all thy faults, I love thee still." And perhaps at this moment there is no nation on the face of the earth where the Church is less trammeled, and where she has more liberty to carry out her sublime destiny, than in these United States.

For my part, I much prefer the system which prevails in this country, where the temporal needs of the Church are supplied by voluntary contributions of the faithful, to the system which obtains in some Catholic countries of Europe, where the Church is supported by the government, thereby making feeble reparation for the gross injustice it has done to the Church by its former wholesale confiscation of ecclesiastical property. And the Church pays dearly for this indemnity, for she has to bear the perpetual attempts at interference and the vexatious enactments of the civil power, which aims at making her wholly dependent upon itself.

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Rome, I paid a visit to the bishop of Annecy, in Savoy. I was struck by the splendor of his palace, and saw a sentinel at the door, placed there by the French government as a guard of honor. But the venerable bishop soon disabused me of my favorable impressions. He told me that he was in a state of gilded slavery. "I cannot," said he, "build as much as a sacristy without obtaining permission of the government."

I do not wish to see the day when the Church will invoke or receive any government aid to build our churches or to pay the salary of our clergy, for the government may then begin to dictate to us what doctrines we ought to preach. And in proportion as state patronage would increase, the sympathy and aid of the faithful would diminish.

I heartily pray that religious intolerance may never take root in our favored land. May the only king to force our conscience be the King of kings, may the only prison. erected among us for the sin of unbelief or misbelief be the prison of a troubled conscience, and may our only motive for embracing truth be, not the fear of man, but the love of truth and of God!

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THE COMMON DOOM.

ICTORIOUS men of earth, In your beauty's pale declension
You would grace with condescension

no more

Proclaim how wide your The love that touched you never

empires are;

Though you bind in every

And your triumphs reach

As night or day, Yet you, proud monarchs,

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When your bloom and hopes were high.

Ah! but what if I discover
That too long in antique fashion
I have nursed a fruitless passion,
Whose rage

and reign-thank Heaven!Are passed at length and overThat Fate hath locked for ever Love's golden Eden gate?

There's a wrong beyond redressing,
There's a prize not worth possessing,
And a lady's condescension

May come an hour too late.

PAUL H. HAYNE.

THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE

MOOR.

HE last time I came o'er the moor

THE

I left my love behind me;
Ye powers! what pain do I endure
When soft ideas mind me!
Soon as the ruddy morn displayed
The beaming day ensuing,
I met betimes my lovely maid
In fit retreats for wooing.

Beneath the cooling shade we lay,

Gazing and chastely sporting; We kissed and promised time away Till Night spread her black curtain. I pitied all beneath the skies,

E'en kings, when she was nigh me;

In raptures I beheld her eyes, Which could but ill deny me.

Should I be called where cannons roar, Where mortal steel may wound me, Or cast upon some foreign shore

Where dangers may surround me, Yet hopes again to see my love,

To feast on glowing kisses,
Shall make my cares at distance move
In prospect of such blisses.

In all my soul there's not one place
To let a rival enter;
Since she excels in every grace,
In her my love shall centre.
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow,
Their waves the Alps shall cover,
On Greenland ice shall roses grow,
Before I cease to love her.

The next time I go o'er the moor

She shall a lover find me, And that my faith is firm and pure, Though I left her behind me; Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain My heart to her fair bosom : There, while my being does remain, My love more fresh shall blossom.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.

SAW her when the flowers of life Bloomed in hope's radiant dawn, Fair as the rainbow in the sky

Ere its tints of heaven are gone. Her heart was pure; no withering blight Had crushed its dreams of youth, Nor weeds of sorrow rankled round Her soul of angel-truth.

Her path was studded o'er with gems
Of pleasure's holiest ray;
No cloud had crossed her sunny brow
To steal its light away;

No gloomy shade of grief had cast

Its darkness o'er her face,
Nor tear of anguish on her cheek
Had left its dim, damp trace.

Before her Fancy's wizard charm

Raised from their bowers of bliss Bright visions of a future time.

More glorious even than this; Around her Virtue's halo shed

Its pale yet peerless beam, While young Romance stood pensive by And basked beneath its gleam.

Her form was graceful as the sprite
Whose home is in a flower
That pours its balm to elves alone

At midnight's solemn hour;
Her smile was like the first-born tinge

Of gold along the blue

That magic-like wakes beauty's morn, Bathed in its roseate hue.

She struck her lute and sung of love, A sadly plaintive strain: 'Twas Memory's echo of the past,

That ne'er could come again; Her voice was sweet as Music's breath Low murmuring on the strings Of the wild air-harp ere the wind Shakes breezes from his wings.

I saw her once again, but all
Her loveliness was flown;
Her tongue was silent as the tomb
That claimed her for its own;

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The brightness of her glance had fled
As stars flee from the day;

The rose that decked her crimson cheek
Was blasted by decay.

The dews of death sat sternly cold
Upon her marble brow;
The snowy bosom heaved no more :
'Twas moist and clammy now;
The eye that once with fond delight

Shone like the meteor's blaze
Now sunk and lustreless was fixed,

A dead and sightless gaze.

The dark hair o'er her forehead fell
And veiled its icy chill;
Life's sparkling founts were frozen up,
The throbbing heart was still;
The shadowy frame of soulless clay,

So beauteous once, and blest,
Lay like a sculptured form of stone,

Wrapped in eternal rest.

The fleshless hands were clasped across
Her breast, as if her soul
'Mid worship's seraph-breathings flew
To reach heaven's blissful goal;
About her livid lips still played

The last faint smile she gave,

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A king observed a flock widespread
Upon the plains, most admirably fed,
O'erpaying largely, as returned the years,
Their shepherd's care by harvests for his
shears.

Such pleasure in this man the monarch took,
"Thou meritest," said he, "to wield a
crook

O'er higher flock than this, and my esteem.
O'er men now makes thee judge supreme."
Behold our shepherd, scales in hand,

Like moonlight's lingering farewell gleam Although a hermit and a wolf or two,

Upon a mouldering grave.

I stood beside the shrouded bier

And kissed the lifeless earth,

And wept to think that joys like hers

Should perish at their birth;

'Tis even so the greenest bud
In summer's glow will fade,
And hallowed hopes of years to come
Are oft the first decayed.

JAMES WITHERS.

Besides his flock and dogs, were all he knew.
Well stocked with sense, all else upon

demand

Would come, of course, and did, we under

stand.

His neighbor hermit came to him to say,
"Am I awake? Is this no dream, I pray?
You favorite? You great? Beware of
kings!

Their favors are but slippery things,

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