Table Rock, where all had been hushed into silence by the magnificent vision before them-exclaim"What is it, Mother, that makes us all so silent?" The reply is in part in the sublime words of the sacred historian-"It is in the spirit of God moving upon the face of the waters!" It is in this new revelation to our senses of his power and majesty which ushers us, as it were, into His visible presence, and exalts our affections above language." Well, indeed, might man be hushed before that glorious manifestation of the presence of his maker,-and when he has mused in silence, until he has caught the full import of the wondrous scene, he will prostrate his spirit in adoration and worship.

Stupendous, however, as is Niagara-ever-flowing, unwearied, unexhausted in its career, as seems that wondrous cataract-symbol, as I have called it, of the Eternal-how clear is it, that there is another thought upon the subject quite as striking and true. Stupendous as it is, it will have an end. Ever-flowing as is that rushing torrent, it will yet be hushed and gone. Symbol of eternity as it now appears, the symbol will fade before the reality. Nay, while I write, I feel that to us it may be a symbol of something of the deepest, personal interest;-of Time, ever-flowing;-and we, we, are upon its current !

To some of us, it may be, so calmly and gently are we gliding on, that its soft and mirror-like surface scarce seems to be floating us away; but the rapids are before us, and each one in turn must pass, as do the successive drops which compose that mighty volume of waters, into the dark, deep gulf! How delighting, how cheering to the soul, that over that dark, deep gulf, has the Sun of Righteousness lighted up the rainbow of Hope!

FROM THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. PETER AND ST PAUL.

BEHOLD the forum's throng, the murm'ring street,

The bath, the bridge, the scenes where millions meet.

Each land has exiles there, for none is free;

All loathe the lords, as all have bowed the knee.
Numidia's swarthy son, subdued at length;
The blue-eyed German with his giant strength;
The graceful chiefs of some devoted host
That bled to guard their Britain's lovely coast;
The crouching form where lurks a bitter heart
That yet may teach how true the Parthian dart;
The Hebrew doomed a tenfold scorn to brook,

A tenfold anguish writhing in his look;

All, all are here: nor theirs the pride to share,
Waked by this pomp of famed, and grand, and fair :
Their's but to plod the way of wily gain,

Or curse the arts that forged and decked the chain.
And wish one equal day one equal field,

Where nought should win, but lance, and sword and shield.

In joy returned from wars of distant lands,
Marked by his scars, the legion's veteran stands ;
The tall pretorian nods his helm of pride,
The massy pavement ringing to his stride;
Solemn and slow, the stately priests ascend,
In worship not their own to strike or bend ;
The patient sculptor wakes to gradual view
Ideal forms and dreams not all untrue;

The expecting crowd surround the patron's gate;
The morning chariot rolls in gilded state;

The light buffoon with idle jibe and jest,

Scans the nerved athlet's mighty arm and chest ;
Morn warms with life the city's utmost vein,

And every passion holds its wonted reign.

O'er the vast throng a brief, deep silence sank;

From the fallen prey astonished vengeance shrank ;

Then, hoarse and faint, arose the heartless call,

"So let the foes of Rome and Cæsar fall!"

Alone stood Simon :

*

*

Round his torn limbs the sevenfold bands they wound,

And his swollen forehead almost pressed the ground;
They strained each cord, they cleft each gushing vein,
They plied each weapon of distracting pain:

Each pang's, each torture's work, amazed they viewed,
Each pang, each torture pierced, but none subdued.
But ere the hammer heaved its closing blow,
Chill, chill and faltering rolled the life blood slow ;
Ere half their bootless rage the torments spent,

On angel wings the sweet release was sent.

*

*

*

*

And thou, who comest from thine own Northern land
On Roman dust in memory's trance to stand,

When thine enchanted feet have learned to stray
Through all this classic waste of old decay;
Imperial halls half hid mid lowly vines,

Fair imaged saints that smile o'er conquered shrines;
Arch far o'er arch, where moss and ivy grow,
Columns that stood while empires fell below,
The walks where fables morning shadows spread,
The graves and trophies of the mighty dead :
When thou hast wandered arts impassioned slave,
And owned what might to man the maker gave;
When o'er thy soul the spirit of the past

All its thick cloud of solemn dreams hath cast,
Then seek with me, some spot where fancy's ear
The apostle martyr's echoing voice may hear;
And from that spot behold, behind, before,
As round a rock, the sea of ages roar.

Thou hast a bark to cross the stormy tide;

Thou too must follow, and perchance may'st guide :
From first to last one sovereign power extends,

And all the light the worth the glory blends ;

It filled those breasts, it centered in that hour,

It crowned that spot: knowest thou that sovereign power?
Hast thou not felt, oh! feel its presence now,

And hast thou felt, in meek devotion bow:
And when thy words, in home's delighted hall,
The tale, the scenes, the dreams of Rome recall,
Then be thou strong to walk where such have led
Arm for the field where worthier bosoms bled;
And find thy bliss to see amidst thy sphere,
In life, in death, the closing conquest near.

ON THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES.

BY WILLIAM G. GODDARD,

Professor of Belles Lettres in Brown University.

LIBERAL Studies are adapted not only to moderate an extravagant desire for wealth, but to aid in establishing the true principles upon which wealth should be expended. In a country like our own, these principles, if well understood, are apt to be very imperfectly applied. The primitive stages in the progress of refinement we have long since passed.