enough. Hang up that poor little spy-glass; it has done its work. Not Herschel nor Rosse has, comparatively, done more. Franciscans and Dominicans deride thy discoveries now; but the time will come when, from two hundred observatories in Europe and America, the glorious artillery of science shall nightly assault the skies; but they shall gain no conquests in those glittering fields before which thine shall be forgotten.

Rest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens;-like him, scorned, persecuted, broken-hearted! In other ages, in distant hemispheres, when the votaries of science, with solemn acts of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edifices to the cause of knowledge and truth, thy name shall be mentioned with honor.

VIRTUE.

GEORGE HERBERT.

SWEET day! So cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in the grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,

My music shows ye have your closes,

And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like seasoned timber, never gives,
But, though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

LINES FOUND IN THE HAND OF THE STATUE OF NIGHT AT FLORENCE IN THE

SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

GIOVANNI STROZZI. TRANSLATION ANONYMOUS.

CARVED by an Angel in this marble white
Sweetly reposing, lo, the Goddess Night!
Calmly she sleeps and so must living be
Awake her gently—she will speak to thee.

MICHAEL ANGELO'S REPLY.

TRANSLATION ANONYMOUS.

GRATEFUL is sleep while wrong and shame survive,
More grateful still in senseless stone to live;
Gladly both sight and hearing I forego.

Oh then awake me not-Hush! Whisper low!

"POVERI! POVERIS!"

"Feed my sheep."

JOAQUIN MILLER.

COME, let us ponder; it is fit-
Born of the poor, born to the poor.
The poor of purse, the poor of wit,

Were first to find God's opened door-
Were first to climb the ladder, round by round,
That fell from heaven's door unto the ground.

God's poor came first, the very first!
God's poor were first to see, to hear,
To feel the light of heaven burst

Full on their faces. Far or near,

His poor were first to follow, first to fall!
What if at last his poor stand first of all?

THE VICTIM.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

A PLAGUE upon the people fell,
A famine after laid them low,
Then thorpe and byre arose in fire,

For on them brake the sudden foe
So thick they died the people cried,
"The gods are moved against the land."
The priest in horror about his altar
To Thor and Odin lifted a hand :

"Help us from famine

And plague and strife!

What would you have of us?

Human life?

Were it our nearest,

Were it our dearest,

(Answer, oh, answer)

We give you his life!"

But still the foeman spoiled and burned,
And cattle died, and deer in wood,
And bird in air, and fishes turned

And whitened all the rolling flood
And dead men lay all over the way,

Or down in a furrow scathed with flame; And ever and aye the priesthood moaned Till at last it seemed that an answer came: "The King is happy

In child and wife;
Take you his dearest,
Give us a life!"

The priest went out by heath and hill;
The King was hunting in the wild;
They found the mother sitting still;
She cast her arms about the child.

The child was only eight summers old,
His beauty still with his years increased,
His face was ruddy, his hair was gold,
He seemed a victim due to the priest.

The priest beheld him,
And cried with joy,
"The gods have answered:
We give them the boy!"

The King returned from out the wild,
He bore but little game in hand;

The mother said, "They have taken the child
To spill his blood and heal the land;
The land is sick, the people diseased,
And blight and famine on all the lea ;
The holy gods, they must be appeased,
So I pray you tell the truth to me.
They have taken our son,

They will have his life.
Is he your dearest?

Or I, the wife?"

The King bent low, with hand on brow,
He stayed his arms upon his knee:
"O wife, what use to answer now?

For now the priest has judged for me."

The King was shaken with holy fear;

"The gods," he said, "would have chosen well;

Yet both are near, and both are dear;

And which the dearest I cannot tell!"

But the priest was happy,

His victim won;

"We have his dearest,

His only son!"