yesterday. These have all undergone the changes incident to human things; that has proved itself superior to all vicissitudes, and has come triumphant out of every fiery ordeal. Through sunshine and tempest, through whirlwinds and revolutions, through the wreck of empires and the changes of dynasties, through ruins cumbering its pathway during long ages, the Papacy has survived, and it still lives, with undiminished vigor and ever-renewed vitality.

2. The imperial line of the Roman Cæsars began the race with the Papacy; it was strong and the Papacy was weak; but the line of the Cæsars, which was inaugurated under auspices so promising and so splendid by Augustus, after a period of less than five centuries terminated disastrously and ingloriously in Augustulus (or the little Augustus); while the Papacy was still young, and had hardly yet gained a firm foothold on the earth. The line of the Eastern Cæsars began with Constantine in the fourth century, and closed with Constantine Paleologus in the fifteenth; still the Papacy remained, more firmly seated than ever on the Chair of Peter. The old French monarchy began in the fifth century, and after having undergone manifold vicissitudes, and passed through the various dynasties of the Merovingian, the Carlovingian, and the Capetian houses, it was extinguished for a time at the close of the last century, in the blood of Louis XVI., and though subsequently revived for a brief period, it seems that its sun has now set forever; still the Papacy exhibits ro signs of decay. The English monarchy has undergone similar changes, and has passed through the successive

dynasties of the British, Saxon, Danish, Norman, Plantagenet, Tudor, Stuart, and Brunswick houses; but the Papacy, which was already four centuries old when Hengist, the Saxon, first set foot on British soil, has outlived the past, and it bids fair to survive the present and future royal lines. The same may be said of the imperial line of Germany, and of the royal line of Spain-not to speak of the smaller principalities of Europe, or the comparatively modern line of the Russian Czars. They are all of the earth, earthly; they have all in turn bowed to the decree of instability, and to the doom of dissolution, inscribed on all merely human institutions; while the Papacy has plainly risen above this law of change, has exhibited no signs of decay which would indicate approaching dissolution, and, after having bravely battled with events for eighteen centuries, has immortality still engraved on its triple

crown.

This wonderful tenacity of life becomes still more astonishing when we reflect upon the terrible conflicts through which the Papacy, like the Church, has passed during its long pilgrimage on earth. For three centuries the sword of persecution, wielded by the mightiest empire which the world ever saw, was seldom returned to the scabbard, and to be a Roman Pontiff was to be a candidate for martyrdom. More than thirty of the early Pontiffs were made to pass from an earthly to a heavenly crown, under the axe of the pagan executioner. At each successive decapitation, the cruel instruments of imperial despotism no doubt boasted that the line was extinct, and that no priest would be found

bold enough to step into the dangerous post stained with the blood of the previous incumbent. No doubt he certain downfall of popery was then a hundred times predicted, with at least as much earnestness, and with more seeming probability, than it has been foretold on less plausible grounds by many in modern times, who so loudly vaunt their zeal for Christianity. But as the pagan prophecies were falsified by the event, so we may reasonably hope and confidently expect that those of their Christian imitators will not be realized. If history convey any certain lesson, we may safely derive this steadfast conclusion from its faithful and constant verdict of eighteen cen turies.

THUNDER STORM ON THE ALPS.-Byron. It is the hush of night; and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darkened Jura, whose capped heights appear Precipitously steep; and drawing near, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Of flowers, yet fresh with childhood; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more.

2.

He is an evening reveler, who makes

His life an infancy, and sings his fill!

At intervals, some bird from out the brakes,
Starts into voice, a moment, then is still.

There seems a floating whisper on the hill,
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews
All silently their tears of love instill,
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
Deep into Nature's breast, the spirit of her hues.

3.

The sky is changed! and such a change! O night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong! Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

4.

And this is in the night: most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for shmber!

Let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,
A portion of the tempest, and of thee!
How the lit lake shines! a phosphoric sea!
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And now again 'tis black, and now the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth

5.

Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights, which appear as lovers who have parted
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,

That they can meet no more, though broken hearted!

Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage,

Which blighted their life's bloom, and then leparted! Itself expired, but leaving them an age

Of years, all winters! war within themselves to wage!

6.

Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way,
The mightiest of the storms hath taken his stand;
For here, not one, but many, make their play,
And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand,
Flashing and cast around! of all the band,
The brightest through these parted hills hath forked
His lightnings, as if he did understand,

That in such gaps as desolation worked,

There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked.

ADAMS AND JEFFERSON.-Everett.

They have gone to the companions of their cares, of their toils. It is well with them. The treasures of America are now in Heaven. How long the list of our good, and wise, and brave, assembled there! how few remain with us! There is our Washington, and those who followed him in their country's confidence, are now met together with him, and all that illustrious company.

2. The faithful marble may preserve their image; the engraven brass may proclaim their worth; but the hum blest sod of independent America, with nothing but the dew-drops of the morning to gild it, is a prouder mausoleum than kings or conquerors can brast.

The coun