efforts of this age, and who know that the tomb of the Church will be the tomb of the civilized world, entertain more ardent faith and charity, devote yourselves entirely to that Church out of which there is no salvation in time or in eternity.

HOTSPUR'S SOLILOQUY ON THE CONTENTS OF A LETTER.— Shakspeare.

"But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house." He could be contented to be there! Why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears your house; he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves your house. Let me see some more. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous." Why that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower safety. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and the whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition." Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant; a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot; very good friends. What a frosty spirited rogue is this! Why, my lord of Yerk commends the plot, and the general course of the action. By this hand, if

I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself; lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month; and are there not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. Oh! I could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an action. Hang him! let him tell the king. We are prepared. I will set forward to-night.

MAJESTY OF THE LAW.-Hopkinson.

How imposing is the majesty of the law! how cain her dignity; how vast her power; how firm and tranquil, in her reign! It is not by fleets and arms, by de vastation and wrong, by oppression and blood — she maintains her sway, and executes her decrees. Sustained by justice, reason, and the great interests of man, she but speaks, and is obeyed. Even those who do not approve, hesitate not to support her; and the individual, upon whom her judgment falls, knows that submission is not only a duty he must perform, but that the security and enjoyment of all that is dear to him, depend upon it.

2. A mind accustomed to acknowledge no power but physical force, no obedience but personal fear, must view

with astonishment, a feeble individual, sitting with no parade of strength, surrounded by no visible agents of power, issuing his decrees with oracular authority, while the rich and the great, the first and the meanest, await alike to perform his will. Still more wonderful is it, to behold the co-ordinate officers of the same government, yielding their pretensions to his higher influence ! the executive, the usual depository and instrument of power, the legislature, even the representative of the people, yield a respectful acquiescence to the judgments of the tribunals of the law, pronounced by the minister, and expounder of the law. It is enough for him to say, "It is the opinion of the court," and the farthest corner of our republic feels and obeys the mandate. What a sublime spectacle! This is, indeed, the empire of the law and safe and happy are all they who dwell within it.

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MODERN REPUBLICS.—Story.

Where are the republics of modern times, which clustered round immortal Italy? Venice and Genoa exist, but in name. The Alps, indeed, look down upon the brave and peaceful Swiss, in their native fastnesses; but the guarantee of their freedom is in their weakness, and not in their strength. The mountains are not easily crossed, and the valleys are not easily retained. When the invader comes, he moves like an avalanche, carrying destruction in his path. The peasantry sink before him. The country is too poor for plunder, and too rough for valuable conquest Nature presents her eternal barriers

on every side, to check the wantonness of ambition; and Switzerland remains, with her simple institutions, a mili tary road to fairer climates, scarcely worth a permanent possession.

2. We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices, or luxuries of the old world. Such as we are, we have been. from the beginning; simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government and self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us, and any formidable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary, than for the people to preserve what they themselves have created?

3. Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France, and the lowlands of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the North, and, moving onward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days.

4. Can it be, that America, under such circumstances; can betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics, the inscription upon whose ruins is: "They were, but they are not?" Forbid it, my countrymen! forbid it, Heaven!

NCBILITY OF LABOR.-Dewey.

Why, in the great scale of things, is labor ordained for us? Easily, had it so pleased the great Ordainer, might it have been dispensed with. The world itself might have been a mighty machinery, for producing all that man Houses might have been risen like an exha

wants.

lation,

"With the sound

Of dulcet syınphonies, and voices sweet,
Built like a temple."

Gorgeous furniture might have been placed in them, and soft couches, and luxurious banquets, spread by hands unseen; and man, clothed with fabrics of nature's weaving, rather than imperial purple, might have been sent to disport himself in those Elysian palaces.

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2. "Fair scene!" I imagine you are saying: "fortunate for us, had it been the scene ordained for human life? But where, then, had been human energy, perseverance, patience, virtue, heroism? Cut off labor with one blow from the world, and mankind had sunk to a crowd of Asiatic voluptuaries.

3. No; it had not been fortunate! Better that the earth be given to man as a dark mass, whereupon to labor. Better, that rude and unsightly materials be provided in