Then Ambrose said, "All those shall die The eternal death who believe not as I" ; And some were boiled, some burned in fire, Some sawn in twain, that his heart's desire, For the good of men's souls, might be satisfied

By the drawing of all to the righteous side.

One day, as Ambrose was seeking the truth
In his lonely walk, he saw a youth
Resting himself in the shade of a tree ;
It had never been granted him to see

So shining a face, and the good man thought 'T were pity he should not believe as he ought.

So he set himself by the young man's side, And the state of his soul with questions.

tried;

But the heart of the stranger was hardened indeed,

Nor received the stamp of the one true.

creed;

And the spirit of Ambrose waxed sore to find Such face the porch of so narrow a mind.

"As each beholds in cloud and fire

The shape that answers his own desire,

So each," said the youth, "in the Law shall find

The figure and features of his mind;

And to each in his mercy hath God allowed His several pillar of fire and cloud."

The soul of Ambrose burned with zeal And holy wrath for the young man's weal: "Believest thou then, most wretched youth," Cried he, 66 a dividual essence in Truth? I fear me thy heart is too cramped with sin To take the Lord in his glory in."

Now there bubbled beside them where they stood

A fountain of waters sweet and good;

The youth to the streamlet's brink drew near Saying, "Ambrose, thou maker of creeds, look here!"

Six vases of crystal then he took,

And set them along the edge of the brook.

"As into these vessels the water I pour, There shall one hold less, another more,

And the water unchanged, in every case,
Shall put on the figure of the vase ;

O thou, who wouldst unity make through strife,

Canst thou fit this sign to the Water of Life?"

When Ambrose looked up, he stood alone, The youth and the stream and the vases were

gone;

But he knew, by a sense of humbled grace,
He had talked with an angel face to face,
And felt his heart change inwardly,
As he fell on his knees beneath the tree.

MASACCIO.

IN THE BRANCACCI CHAPEL.

E came to Florence long ago,

And painted here these walls, that

shone

For Raphael and for Angelo,

With secrets deeper than his own,
Then shrank into the dark again,

And died, we know not how or when.

The shadows deepened, and I turned
Half sadly from the fresco grand ;
"And is this," mused I, “all ye earned,
High-vaulted brain and cunning hand,
That ye to greater men could teach
The skill yourselves could never reach ?"

"And who were they," I mused,

wrought

"that

Through pathless wilds, with labor long,
The highways of our daily thought ?
Who reared those towers of earliest song
That lift us from the throng to peace
Remote in sunny silences?"

Out clanged the Ave Mary bells,

And to my heart this message came :
Each clamorous throat among them tells
What strong-souled martyrs died in flame
To make it possible that thou

Shouldst here with brother-sinners bow.

Thoughts that great hearts once broke for, we Breathe cheaply in the common air ;

The dust we trample heedlessly

Throbbed once in saints and heroes rare,
Who perished, opening for their race
New pathways to the commonplace.

Henceforth, when rings the health to those
Who live in story and in song,
O nameless dead, that now repose
Safe in Oblivion's chambers strong,
One cup of recognition true

Shall silently be drained to you!

AN INCIDENT OF THE FIRE AT HAMBURG.

HE tower of old Saint Nicholas soared upward to the skies,

Like some huge piece of Nature's make, the growth of centuries; You could not deem its crowding spires a work of human art,

They seemed to struggle lightward from a sturdy living heart.

Not Nature's self more freely speaks in crystal or in oak,