also have occasion to draw the gleaming weapon, it acts or flames in front of the lady, to her innoxious, as the armor of her proper champion, for sallies of defensive or offensive demonstration, at once her avenger and her shield. Gentlemen of the army and the navy wear swords professionally; and to all these, the propriety of the sword on one side, the lady on the other, and the man of fidelity and honor between them, is quite obvious, although "the age chivalry is gone."

When a lady stands or walks with her lord on his right, her left hand properly supports her dependence, while her right is at ease and free for motion, gesture, and action of any sort; while his right arm sustains the grateful incumbent in a way of facile preference and nature.

Again, in all the world the usage of sentiment

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has made the dexter side preferable for honor, politeness, and address. Our native language attests its superiority. It is the right side; and rectitude in idea alone could have suggested the epithet, now universal in our Aglo-Saxon tongue, as well as indelible, express, and admirable." The other is the left-because we pretermit or leave it; implying inferiority, dereliction, oblivion more suited to one left, neglected or forgotten, sine spe, than to the state of a chosen bride in the scenery of her espousals, by the side of her beloved, in the crisis of her joys, and while honorably typifying the glorious church of Christ as she shall be presented to himself, with the gratulation of angelic witnesses, in the heaven of heavens.

The minstrelsy of nature's ever heard:

In the moist bosom of the quickening Spring, When snow-drops burst, and th' awakening bird, From winter's torpor on rejoicing wing Mounts heavenward singing; in the liquid gush Of crystal fountains bubbling from the side Of some green hill; in the tempestuous rush

Of solemn night-winds eddying far and wide; Through the sombre forests and through alleys green,

Where the green lizard leaps or feeds unseen.
The minstrelsy of nature,-it is known

In mellow summer, where the rills rejoice
Amid the woodland-and the turtle's tone

Its music mingles with the bulbul's voice; By the quick rustling of the forest leaves,

And fall of early blossoms-by the swing Of populous branches when the tempests rave, Dishevelling their tints; and by the spring And finny leap of fish in the cool wave, And echo, answering from her inland cave. The minstrelsy of nature,—it is found,

And heard in Autumn where the woodlands shed

Their venerable foliage on the ground,

Like the thin grey locks off some old man's
head;

By the road-side, and by the river's bank,

Where the red robin sings, and swallows fly Across the water-brooks; where nettles rank

Are fading in the sunbeams, and where lie The moth, and grasshopper; 'tis heard, and flings A sense of gladness o'er all earthly things.

The minstrelsy of nature-it is brought

By winter to our hearths; and in the deep And stilly midnight, when our eyes have sought A refuge from all care, and balmy sleep Locks in forgetfulness our weary eyes,

It comes upon the wreck-presaging storm, And shakes our homesteads; and along the skies Peals in deep thunder, making heaven's cheek

warm

And flushed with lightning; and the pelting hail, Hurl'd earthward, reels like chaff beneath the

flail.

There is no part of God's vast universe
Untenanted, and therefore no part free
Of harmony; the very stars rehearse

Their Maker's glory, and rejoice to be
His oracles: herb, blossom, wood and dell,
Rocks, rivers, mountains, ocean, and the dim
Interminable æther, chant and swell,

And blend their myriad tones into one hymn And tone of homage, heard for evermore, Ascending without pause from sea and shore. And from the human heart, the fount and throne, And temple of God's worship, oft a sigh,

A deep low murmur, like a captive's moan,
In sorrow will arise, and to the sky
Appeal for what the cold world may not know;
Its name is prayer, and when it is sincere,
In gloom or gladness, joyfulness or wo,
When speaking through the lip or through the
tear,

Whatever shapes it takes, it has a spell

To exalt or to subdue, where'er we dwell.

CHRISTIANITY is the same from the beginning to the end. The oracles of our heavenly Father, as spoken by the mouth of the anointed Saviour, have still the same voice which they bore before the cross was set up on Calvary. The divine principles which reveal the will of the omnipotent and immaculate God, and which are preserved in his word, know no change nor shadow of turning; but the visible Christian church, since its foundation until to-day, has assumed many diverse forms, according to circumstances and the conviction of its members. At first she was lowly in form, humble, peaceful, and meek, seeking the secluded mountain-side and the quiet waters by which to worship. From poverty did God's anointed Son come forth, and he preached salvation to the poor. Poor and humble were the Galilean fishermen who spread abroad the glorious gospel of love; and it was the poor and needy that first heard and received the glad tidings with joy. As time rolled on, however, and the rich and powerful attached themselves to Christianity, the stately cathedral displaced the humble cell, and a splendid ritual became the service of the the visible church. No city in the world is more fruitful of historical associations than Rome; and no part of her history is more instructive or interesting than that of the Christian church. Like her polytheism, which emanated from the subterranean temple of Consus, the Roman church arose from the dark and gloomy catacombs; and as the former saw its crowning glories in the temple of Jupiter Olympus, so did the latter behold her greatness in the St Peter's of Buonarotti. There is no more instructive employment for the reflection of man, than to observe the development of any system, even from that of a grain of seed to that of a grand leading idea; the spirit and nature of man and the ways of Providence are illustrated in both.

The great increase which took place in the magnificence of ancient Rome, during the latter times of the republic, naturally led to the formation of quarries in the immediate neighborhood. In this respect, the city of the Cæsars resembles many others, as Paris, Naples, Syracuse, and Alexandria, all more or less surrounded or under

mined by tortuous excavations. The size and shape of these differ according to the firmness of the substratum: at Naples they are large and lofty, but at Rome, from the crumbling nature of the soil, narrow and low. These subterranean works attracted general notice during the time of Augustus, when their extent rendered them dangerous. They first obtained celebrity as the scene of the domestic tragedy referred to by Cicero in his oration for Cluentius. The riches of Asinius, a young Roman citizen, had excited the avarice of Oppianicus, who employed an accomplice to personate Asinius, and to execute a will in his name. The pretended Asinius having bequeathed the property to Oppianicus, and obtained the signatures of some strangers, the true Asinius was inveigled to the gardens of the Esquiline, and precipitated into one of the sandpits. It was in these caverns that Nero was advised to conceal himself, when terrified by the sentence of an enraged senate; on which occasion he made answer to his freedman Phaon, that he would not go under ground while living. The sand obtained from the Esquiline pits was used for making cement; it was recommended for this purpose by the the architect Vitruvius, as preferable to all other.

The custom of digging sand from these crypts or galleries being established, the whole subsoil on one side of Rome was in course of time perforated by a network of excavations, spreading ultimately to a distance of fifteen miles. In the mean time the original quarries, exhausted of their stores, were appropriated to other uses. We must bear in mind that at this date—that is, about the close of the Republic-the Romans were accustomed to burn their dead, excepting a few families of distinction, who prefered burying them, and the lowest orders of the people, who were not able to procure the honors of a funeral pile. Certain classes of persons, as those who had made away with themselves, or had perished by the hand of the law, were forbidden to receive the rites of incremation. The prohibition was also extended to such as had been struck by lightning; a circumstance seized upon by Tertullian, as illustrative of the Christian's salvation

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from hell, "He who has been touched by heavenly fire is safe from being consumed by any other flame." For these persons the pits left by the sand-diggers on the Esquiline hill afforded a convenient burial-place; and their bodies were thrown in to putrefy, much to the annoyance of the inhabitants of that part of Rome.

It was probably to the sand-diggers on the Esquiline hill, and to the poor men who had been employed in scooping out the cavernous catacombs, that the gospel was first preached at Rome; and it was likely, from their knowledge of its tortuosities, that the persecuted of the faith were made acquainted with this city of refuge. For many years did the faithful find a precarious refuge under ground, from the persecutions of which the malignity of the heathen mob or the malice of the heathen rulers subjected them; and for many generations did they lay the bodies of their dead in this subterranean dwelling-place of the living.

The fact that the catacombs were employed as a refuge from persecution, rests upon good evidence, notwithstanding objections founded upon the narrowness of the passages, the difficulty of supporting life, and the risk of discovery incurred by seeking concealment in an asylum so well known to the Pagans. They have been an object of great interest to the Christian traveler for many years, and abound with monuments and memorials of the faith and virtues of the early disciples of Christ. They have been also the scene of the actual martyrdom of some noble witnesses to the truth. Xystus, Bishop of Rome, together with Quartus, one of his clergy, suffered below ground in the time of Cyprian. Stephen, also Bishop of Rome, was traced by heathen soldiers to his subterranean chapel: on the conclusion of divine service, he was thrust back into his episcopal chair, and beheaded. The letters of Christians then living refer to such scenes with a simplicity that dispels all idea of exaggeration : while their expectation of sharing the same fate affords a vivid picture of those dreadful times.

An authentic history of Stephen during his long residence in the catacombs, would be surpassed in interest by few narratives in the ecclesiastical archives. Some incidents have been handed down to us. From time to time he was consulted by his clergy, who resorted to him for advice and exhortation. On one occasion, a layman named Hippolytus, himself a refugee, sought the bishop's cell, to receive instruction regarding a circumstance that preyed upon his mind. Paulina, his heathen sister, together with her huband Adrian, were in the habit of sending provisions by their two children to Hippolytus and his

companions. The unconverted state of these relations by whom his bodily life was supported, weighed heavily upon him, and by the advice of Stephen a plan was laid for detaining the children, so that the parents were forced to seek them in the cavern. Every argument was used by Stephen and Hippolytus to induce their benefactors to embrace the faith, and, though for the time ineffectual, the desired end was at length accomplished. Tradition adds that they all suffered martyrdom, and were buried in the catacombs. A visit in former years to these touching scenes of ancient piety and faith, left an impression of the grandeur of our religion, which neither the pomp of cathedrals, nor the array of the priesthood that now occupy Rome, ever conveyed Walking through the long corridors, the walls are seen covred with inscriptions, some plain and striking, but mostly obscure or effaced. These inscriptions are of singular interest to the antiquarian and to the historiographer, and are of no mean importance in the discussion of the form of the early churches. They show us in rude but unmistakeable characers the meek and humble spirit of the primitive Christians during trial, and in their conflicts with power; and they gradually appear as monuments of the progressive epochs of the church at Rome. The early Christians had toleration under several of the Roman emperors; for, notwithstanding the many charges that were brought against them by the Pagan writers, yet they were never accused of anything more serious than of worshiping Christ, and of warring against the idolatry of the polytheists. Between the Pagans and Christians there was an uncompromising difference, which the advocates of Christianity did not shrink, in the face of the greatest terrors, from exposing. Carrying in their hand the life they valued so cheaply, the martyrs lavishly exchanged it for the treasures of eternal glory; but besides this, in itself an abundant recompense, they bought over the hearts of men. With such a price they seduced the world into imitation of their virtues : the same violence that took heaven by force, prevailed over earth and vanquished hell. Nothing could have been devised better adapted to display the power of the new faith, than submitting its professors to martyrdom: not proof against the generous enthusiasm of his victim, the executioner often caught the flame; gazed upon the dangerous spectacle of the power of true religion, till his heart burned within him; and, fairly overwhelmed by the trial of faith and hope, hastened to undergo the death which his hands had inflicted on another. It was perhaps the frequent experience of this which led many of the Pagan

90

officers to avoid capital punishment, and to employ the more efficacious method of bribes and entreaties.

Among the earliest sufferers in Rome after the completion of the inspired canon, was Ignatius, who was devoured by beasts in the Coliseum, A D. 107. Of his martyrdom we have a short narrative, expressed in language sufficiently inelegant and obscure to stamp it as the work of uneducated persons; and professing to be the production of the martyr's personal friends. In addition to these "Acts," we have the epistles of Ignatius written to seven churches while on his way to Rome; in this respect he imitated his apostolic friend, who had departed this life a few years earlier. These epistles have happily come down to us uncorrupted. From these "acts" and epistles we learn all that is known of the last days of Ignatius. While the Emperor Trajan was passing,through Antioch, on his way to Armenia, he observed that a portion of his subjects rendered him imperfect homage, so that the lustre of his recent victories seemed to suffer some diminution. His indignation being roused, he issued an edict commanding the Christians to sacrifice to the gods, under pain of instant death. Ignatius, fearing for the church over which he was bishop, presented himself before Trajan, and after a short conversation too well known to need repetition, was sentenced to death. He was placed under the care of soldiers, to be conducted to Rome; during the journey he contrived to visit Polycarp, his fellow-disciple in the school of St. John. He also wrote to the church of Rome, requesting them to make no attempt to save his life.

Among the most elaborately finished productions of Ambrose, is the story of Theodora, a young woman of remarkable beauty, who had attracted the notice of the governor of Antioch. Vainly was she urged to renounce Christianity; threats of torture failed to shake her constancy; and when finally told that she must either sacrifice, or be publicly disgraced, she calmly answered, "The will alone is what God regards." Being at length condemned by the reluctant governor, she was led to the place of confinement, where she offered up a prayer for deliverance. A forocious-looking soldier forcing his way through the crowd, immediately entered the cell: "Shut your ears," exclaims Ambrose at this juncture, "Christ's faithful witness suffers; nay, but listen once more, for deliverance is at hand." That wolf's clothing disguises a sheep; the man of arms is a soldier of the cross, bent on saving his fellow-believer at the cost of his own life. He quiets her apprehensions, and proposes to exchange dresses with her, so that

she may pass out in his stead. "Take the dress which hides your sex, and give me that which makes me a martyr; believe that for Christ's sake you wear this heathen habit. Be this," he continues, putting upon her his armor, “be this your breast-plate of righteousness, this your shield of faith, and this your helmet of salvation. But, above all, as you go out, hide your face, and let no thought of my fate cause you to turn your head; if tempted to look back, remember Lot's wife." Theodora escaped in safety, leaving the generous Didymus within. The next who entered discovered the change of the prisoner; but, unable to explain the mystery, attributed it to a miracle. The circumstance was soon reported to the governor, and Didymus sentenced to execution. But Theodora, hearing of his apprehension, ran to the place of punishment, and hastened to dispute with him the crown of martyrdom. "I will not be guilty of your death," she exclaimed: "I consented that you should preserve my honor, but not my life. If you deprive me of the crown of martyrdom, you will have deceived me." Two contended, both triumphed: the crown was not divided, but conferred on each.

The fame of the catacombs as a repository of martyrs' ashes early spread throughout Christendom, and attracted to Rome many admirers of relics. Among these was Aurelius Clemens Prudentius, a native of Saragossa, who, about A.D. 880, traveled from Spain to Rome, for the express purpose of visiting the catacombs; and whose enthusiasm, kindled by the countless sepulchres of the martyr church, found expression in a collection of hymns, entitled "Peristaphanon," or, "Concerning the Crowns." He was the first writer who attempted to reduce to a pleasing form the incidents of martyrdom. The history of the ancient bishops of Rome is intimately connected with that of the catacombs, in which not a few were martyred, and all, till the middle of the fifth century, were buried. From the time of Leo I., who in 462 was interred in the vestibule of the sacristy of St. Peter's, we may date the decline of the subterranean cemetries. During the troubles which followed, the knowledge of their entrances was lost, and only a few short passages of easy access remained open, which were still embellished with the ornaments suggested by a debased taste. The earliest accusations brought against the Christians were leveled principally at their obstinate adherence to their religion, and refusal to sacrifice to idols. Pliny described them as meeting together to worship Christ, to sing hymns, and to partake of a social meal; their morals were represented as pure, their opinions as simply opposed to the religion of the state.

Our Plate. The engraving which embellishes our present number honors one of the characteristic points of our American scenery, and furnishes a pleasing aspect of the beautiful in nature. It relates to a locality so generally known and so frequently described, that it may be safely left to tell its own tale to the reader of taste. The portrait which accompanies it will be readily recognized by all who are familiar with the striking features of one of the most eloquent and distinguished of our present century, The issues of the press for the present month have not been numerous or important. The summer season claims a repose in business as well as labor, which the activity of the autumn campaign will be sure to compensate. One of the most interesting of those which have made their appearance, as well as most consonant with the reading temper of the season, is the work of the late Walter Colton, edited by Mr. Cheever,-Land and Lee,-published by A. S. BARNES & Co. It is sprightly, graphic, varied, and finely pervaded with the genius loci. The book is composed of natural and agreeable sketches of the most beautiful scenery of the world, with but little pretence to, or possession of, learning; aiming more to amuse than instruct, and to reflect the writer's impression than to make his fame. The reader never loses his interest nor his thread, nor, indeed, his sight of the author, for everything seen, heard, or experienced, centres in himself. We find ourselves getting a better impression of Mr. Colton's mind and heart with every additional volume of his agreeable series. We believe that when completed, they will embrace a group of pictures of sea life and sailor experience, both novel and instructive. The publishers are much to be commended for the tasteful body they give to Mr. Colton's pleasant thoughts.

Another work of kindred character has been issued by Mr. PUTNAM, entitled Para; or, Scenes in the Amazon, by Mr. Warren, the chief merit of which consists in the novelty of the scenes it depicts, and the nature of the information it conveys. We know next to nothing of the interior of South America; at least in respect to its inhabitants and vital characteristics. Mr Warren's vocation gave him occasion for a lengthened visit to the most beautiful city and region of Brazil; and his business, as well as his taste and curiosity, brought him into continual contact with almost every grade of society. His sketches of experience and intercourse, very frankly and honestly made, and sometimes going to an extent that borders on indelicacy, have the effect of bringing the social and economical traits of the people before the reader with extraordinary distinctness and force.

Keeping still in the way of summer reading, Mr. PUTNAM's beautiful little work, a description of Trenton Falls, will have a peculiar charm to those who have ever delighted themselves with the romantic scenery of that fashionble resort. The work embraces Mr. Sherman's well known description of the Falls, and two or three of Mr. Willis's sketches, which possess his usual freshness, piquancy, and elegance There are also and these are the best part of the work-beautiful views of the Falls at several points, engraved with great finish and force, by Mr. Orr. The elegant style of the work, and the interest of the subject, should make it a favorite.

Mary Howitt has again contributed to the amusement and instruction of the reading world, in another of her attractive tales,-The Heir of Wast Wayland,-published by the HARPERS, which, in most respects, exceeds her former meritorious efforts. It is indeed, in most respects, a very charming story. We have delicious little landscapes, and pleasant views of interiors, and graphic delineations of character, as it develops itself in northern England; while some exquisite thoughts are scattered through the book, like flowers over a hill-side, relieving its more

5

barren or painful passages. In many respects, we prefer the subordinate characters to those which occupy the

one or two, especially such as Christie o' Lily-garth, his wife Nelly, and chatty, kind-hearted Mrs. Haws, we could almost believe we had known personally.

Geology of the Bass Rock is a delightful descriptive work recently issued by the Messrs. CARTER. The Bass Rock is a large rocky islet at the mouth of the Frith of Forth, in Scotland, which having been made the prison of the Covenanters at the time of their great persecution, a witness of their piety and heroism, not less than of their sufferings, has become clothed with most venerable and touching associations. It possesses, moreover, many curious natural features both of structure and scenery. This little book depicts the geological formation of the rock, and is written by the celebrated Hugh Miller, who may be regarded as the finest scientific writer of the age. Its theological history is from the graphic pen of Dr. McCrie, the historian. Together it makes an admirable piece of local history, which every lover of the heroic in character will read with profit and pleasure. It is neatly printed, and well adorned with engravings.

Letters to my Pupils, is the title of a delightful work from the pen of Mrs. Sigourney, and published by R. CARTER & BROTHERS, combining, with a variety of letters written by Mrs. S. to young ladies who had been her pupils, such bits of history as give them a personal interest. Good sense, kind feeling, noble views of life and duty, and true Christian wisdom, shine in every letter. They abound in admirable thoughts for young ladies, and to which the pure style and the gentle feeling of the excellent author impart a most winning force.

An English work that has excited a deep and tender interest in the prize literary world, has been republished by Messrs. TICKNOR, REED & FIELD, of Boston,-Poems by Hartley Coleridge, with a Memoir of his Life, by his Brother. Hartley Coleridge was the eldest son of Samuel Taylor Coleridge; and was born near Bristol, in 1796. Shortly after his birth, his father removed to Keswick; and here or at Ambleside, Hartley spent the greater part of his childhood and boyhood. He early displayed a subtilty of thought that seemed to promise the taste and faculty for metaphysical inquiries which were his father's most prominent characteristics; while, on the other hand, Wordsworth addressed to him, when six years old, an exquisitely beautiful poem, painting him as a child in whom the imaginative and emotional were even then developed to such a degree as to excite the mingled hopes and fears of the almost prophetic bard. It would have been strange if a boy who was the son of Coleridge, the nephew of Southey, and the frequent guest of Wordsworth, Wilson, and the other men of genius who congregated in the neighborhood of our English lakes, had not early felt within him poetic stirrings, and tried to shape them into verse. It is in accordance, too, with all experience, that the power of improvisation described above should have failed the young poet when he ventured on written composition, and that, like all mortals, he had to acquire the use of his tools by effort and practice. His solid education meanwhile had not been neglected; and though his reading was somewhat desultory, it was none the worse for that, as tending to awaken and expand his tastes and sympathies, while the illustrious men with whom he spent so much of his time were at hand to guide, correct, and enlighten. His poetical training may be said to have been completed with familiarity with town's-folk and country-folk of every degree;" by a habit even then strong upon him of lonely wandering, not, we may be sure, unenlivened by reflection and observation; and by the romantic scenery which was ever before his eye, and moulding his plastic nature to the perception and the love of