mass of mankind, is by intellectual improvement; and that in this respect, therefore, our school system places the sexes on an equality?

LXXIX. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

WOLFE.

[CHARLES WOLFE was born in Dublin, Ireland, December 14, 1791, and died February 21, 1823. He was a clergyman of the established church. His "Remains," consisting of sermons, fragments, and poems, were published after his death, with a memoir.

Sir John Moore was killed at Corunna, in Spain, in a battle between the French and English, January 16, 1809. He was wrapped in his military cloak, and buried by torch-light in a hasty grave on the ramparts of the town. A monument has since been erected upon the spot.]

1 NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

2 We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moon-beam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

3 No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

4 Few, and short were the prayers we said;
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead;
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

5 We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That the foe, and the stranger would tread o'er his head;
And we far away on the billow.

6 Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;

But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

7 But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.

8 Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory:
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory.

And far and wide

With ceaseless flow

His beard of snow

Heaves with the heaving of his breast.

3 He waits impatient for his bride.

There she stands,

With her foot upon the sands,

Decked with flags and streamers gay,
In honor of her marriage-day,

Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending,
Round her like a veil descending,

Loud and sudden there was heard,

All around them and below,

The sound of hammers, blow on blow,

Knocking away the shores and spurs.
And see! she stirs !

She starts, she moves,

she seems to feel

The thrill of life along her keel,

And, spurning with her foot the ground,
With one exulting, joyous bound,

She leaps into the ocean's arms.

5 And lo! from the assembled crowd

There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,
That to the ocean seemed to say,

"Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray;
Take her to thy protecting arms,
With all her youth and all her charms."

6

How beautiful she is! how fair

She lies within those arms, that press
Her form with many a soft caress
Of tenderness and watchful care!
Sail forth into the sea, O ship!

Through wind and wave, right onward steeri
The moistened eye, the trembling lip,
Are not the signs of doubt or fear.

7 Sail forth into the sea of life,
O gentle, loving, trusting wife,
And safe from all adversity,
Upon the bosom of that sea
Thy comings and thy goings be!
For gentleness, and love, and trust,
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;
And in the wreck of noble lives
Something immortal still survives !

8 Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity, with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge, and what a heat,
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope.

9 Fear not each sudden sound and shock;
'Tis of the wave, and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale.
In spite of rock and tempest roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea.

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee:
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,

Are all with thee are all with thee.

LXXXI. THE ROMAN EMPIRE A PREPARATION FOR CHRISTIANITY.

WAYLAND.

[FRANCIS WAYLAND was born in the city of New York, March 11, 1796, and was graduated at Union College in 1813. In 1821 he was settled over the First Baptist Church in Boston, was elected president of Brown University, in Rhode Island, in 1826, and held that office till 1855. He died September 30, 1805. He published various sermons, a treatise on "Political Economy," the "Elcments of Moral Science," and several occasional discourses. He had a vigorous and logical mind, and wrote with clearness and energy. He had a wide range and strong grasp of thought, and a power both of intellectual construction and analysis. His deep religious convictions, and his sensibility to moral beauty, save his writings from the dryness which is apt to characterize the productions of minds of so much logical acuteness.

The following extract is from one of his sermons.]

ONE other condition remains yet to be observed. You well know that the nations inhabiting the shores of the Mediterranean were originally distinct in government, dissimilar in origin, diverse in laws, habits, and usages, and 5 almost perpetually at war. Το pass from one to the other without incurring the risk of injury, nay, even of being sold into slavery, was almost impossible. A stranger and an enemy were designated by the same word.

Beginning with Spain, and passing through Gaul, Ger10 many, Italy, Greece, Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and Carthage, until you arrive again at the Pillars of Hercules, every state was most commonly the enemy of every other. It was necessary that these various peoples should all be moulded by the same pressure into one com15 mon form; that one system of laws should bind them all

in harmony; and that, under one common protection, a