and difficult station, and was raised to the rank of Pasha. Nor has the confidence of the Sultan in him, or the expectation of the Christian portion of Lebanon, been disappointed. He has proved himself an enlightened and liberal ruler, and impartially, fearlessly, and ably administered the affairs intrusted to him. He has been obliged to conciliate the various sects of nominal Christians in Mount Lebanon, and to forestall the intrigues of the Turks, who would fain thwart all his efforts to establish a good and equitable government in Lebanon, and especially under a Christian Pasha, and who leave no means untried to gain their end. Hitherto they have been

A ROSE.

Ir was the sweetest rose, the loveliest In all his garden he could find.

overreached by his sagacity, and kept under by his firmness, and Lebanon has greatly improved under his rule. In the event of another outburst of Turkish hate and fanaticism, in the interest of the waning power of Moslemism, the Christians of Mount Lebanon may count on one bold, sagacious, and powerful friend, in the person of the Governor of Lebanon, Daûd Pasha. Nor would it be strange, in the rapid changes and prospective overturning and breaking up of the Turkish power, if this able, experienced, and enlightened man should act a more conspicuous part in the future of the East than he has hitherto done.

He brought it, saying, "Darling, leave your
quest

Of knowledge for a little while, and rest,
Knowing that Nature teacheth best."
Well might he speak, for, blind
To deep delight he knew so well, I was
Working for ever to find out the cause

Of things I saw, and with cold eyes
I sought to read close-folden mysteries,
Forgetting Love, not Knowledge, maketh wise.

I took his rose, and laid it on my mouth.
For one sweet hour I was a girl again;
Forgot my theories, formed at cost and pain,
And all I had gone through for knowledge' sake.
The flower's rich odor, like the soul of wine,
Entered this soul of mine,

And quenched its desperate drouth:
My very brow grew smooth

With drops of spray tossed from the Fount of
Youth.

As learned men talk unto learnèd men,
And my heart well-nigh breaks.
Oh, might I be a woman once again!
Oh, cruel hand, that tore the rose in twain,
You may fling down your pen,

For you will never write such heart-deep songs
Of human love, for human tongues

To sing, that all men's hearts shall beat the faster.

Alas! the thorn-crowned Master Will look with sadder eyes than his I grieved On me, because my garden is dead-leaved.

Oh, summer wind, that brings such melody!
Oh, sunlight, dripping gold upon the river!
The wraith of that sweet rose I killed
Is with me, it will leave me never, never!

For every place is with its presence filled.
Oh, weary day, whereon my hand flung down
Of woman's life the crown.

My brow has lost its bright true gold forever!
EMILY H. HICKEY.

-Macmillan's Magazine.

THE TWO VOYAGES.

BY GEORGE SMITH.

I.

SWIFTLY, Swiftly, we onward glide,
Borne by the wind and the fav'ring tide;
We pass by hamlet, by park, and hall,
And meadows where holiday festival
Is kept: and our hearts beat feather light,
While the sun o'erhead shines warm and bright.

And such is life through its opening years,
Before the burden of grief and tears;
Life when the birds of promise sing,
And happiness dwells with everything-
When the cloud that veils the early morn
Is gone ere we scarce can say 'tis born.

Π.

Heavily, heavily, now we glide,

For we fight with wind and we fight with tide;
The day is done and the shadows fall,
Darkness soon will envelop all:

Brave strokes are wanting; come, pull away,
That we be not lost with the close of day.

So when we are old, and worn, and gray,
And friends once with us are passed away,
When we are left to struggle alone,
With many a weary, weary moan,
We must not falter nor drop an oar
Till we land on yonder eternal shore.

-Bentley's Miscellany.

THE WINDING OF THE SKEIN.
THE orchard trees are white with snow,
As they were white with bloom,
Foam-white, and like a sea beneath
The window of the room;
And fitfully an April sun

Now went, now gleamed again,
But longest gleamed, I think, to see
The winding of the skein.

We were two sisters. Maud and I,
And dwelt, as still we dwell,
In the old house among the trees
Our mother loved so well;

A few old friends we had, and prized,
Nor others sought to gain,
But chiefly one whose name recalls
The winding of the skein.

Our artist-neighbor, Clement, loved
The orchard like a boy,

The blossom-roof, the mossy boughs
Made half his summer joy;

And like a brother in our hearts

He grew in time to reign

And this was he whose name brings back The winding of the skein.

There was a fourth that day. You guess
The story ere 'tis told:

Our cousin back from Paris-gay,
Nor coy, nor over-bold;

But used to homage, used to looks,
There was no need to feign,
As Clement found ere they began
The winding of the skein.

I saw them as they met, and read
The wonder in his face,
And how his artist-eye approved
Her beauty, and the grace
That kindled an admiring love

His heart could not restrain,
Though hard he strove with it, until
The winding of the skein.

The idle hours with idle toil

We sped, and talked between:
With all her skill our cousin wrought
A 'broidered banner screen:

And so it chanced that Clement's aid
She was so glad to gain,

Round after round they wound before
The task was wholly done,
And if their fingers touched, the blood
Straight to his cheek would run;
And if the knotted silk she chid
Her voice through every vein
Went with a thrill of joy, throughout
The winding of the skein.

Round after round, until the end,

And when the end was there
He knew it not, but sat with hands
Raised in the empty air:

The ringing of the merry laugh
Startled his dreaming brain,
And then he knew his heart ensnared
In winding of the skein.

Beneath the apple-blooms that day,
And many a day they strayed:

I saw them through a mist of tears,
While hard for death I prayed.
And still those blossoms like these snows
Benumb my heart with pain,

And Maud knows well when I recall
The winding of the skein.

A CONTENTED PROPRIETOR.

I HAVE plenty of dutiful vassals,
Have plenty of gold, and to spare,
I have plenty of beautiful castles-

But my castles are built in the air;
And my vassals are all airy creatures,
From beautiful Dreamland are they,
They drive me to balls
And magnificent halls,
And tell me my coach stops the way!
But oh, what a pest,

When it comes to the test

I am kept in a dreadful delay. A plague on those wild little vassals, You can't trust a word that they say, And I've heard that my beautiful castles Are sadly inclined to decay.

Father Wisdom advised me to sell them
To the public-a benefit clear-
And Fancy engaged so to sell them,
For Fancy's a fine auctioneer.

But the market by no means was lively,
For castles the call was but cold;

Lead and iron were brisk,

But gold none would risk, To invest on my battlements bold.

So my turrets, unlet,

I inhabit them yet,

And rather rejoice they're not sold, And never a bit am down-hearted,

For my vassals still ply me with gold; My castles and I shan't be parted

Till the heart of the owner be cold.

Again Father Wisdom addressed me-
He's a horrid old bore in his way;
He said rats and mice would infest me,
As crumbled my towers to decay.
"They never can crumble, good father,
They're lasting, when once they're begun;
Our castles of air

We can quickly repair,

As the home of the spider 's respun."
So homeward I went

To my castles, content,

As the vesper-bell told day was done, And they looked just as lovely as ever, As burnished they stood in the sun. Oh, ne'er from my castles I'll sever Till the sands of my glass shall be run! -All the Year Round.

THE CLOUDS. DARK and heavy-bosomed Clouds, Leaning on the streams of wind, Pressing on in frowning crowds, Throngs before and throngs behind, Sweep the high and empty air! Rock nor barrier rises there.

O, descend not for the bird

That delights to ride the waves!
Have not already heard
ye

Of those black and whirling graves,
Seas on gallant vessels piled,
Screams of fear and sorrow wild?

O'er the deep mid-ocean parts,
Many a son and father sails;
Isle and Continent have hearts

Anxious at the growing gales.
Chain those mighty reckless wings
Which the flying Tempest swings!

Change and lie in softer light; Drop the glittering rainbow showers; Bring again the snowdrops white, Maiden heralds of the flowers; Let the Spring with happy eyes See her own bright suns arise!

-All the Year Round.

THE ORGAN.

HER hands strayed over the organ notes,
And there rose such music, sweetly grand,
That as I listened I sighed and thought,

The notes are touched by an angel's hand.

The sunlight stole through the diamond panes
And fell on her golden rippling hair,

And as I gazed, I proudly thought,
A crown of glory is resting there.

He crowns the hounded exile-king,
Reverses Fate's decrees;
And bids the briefless Pleader rise
Judge of the Common Pleas.

Sleep joins the parted lovers' hands;
Wreathes the starved poet's brow;
And calls the hero still unknown
From lonely village-plough.

Sleep holds the resurrection keys,
And from his shadowy plain,
Down Memory's long and cloudy vaults,
The dead come back again.

Sleep comes, like death, alike to all-
Divine equality!

Blesses the monarch in his state,

The slave upon the sea.

Sleep brings our childhood back again—
The only Golden Age;

Sleep! O thou blessed alchemist,
Thou holy Archimage,

LITERARY NOTICES.

History of the Christian Church. By PHILIP SCHAFF, D.D. From Constantine the Great to Gregory the Great, A.D. 311-600. 2 vols. NewYork: Charles Scribner & Co. 1867. These two stately volumes complete the author's History of Ancient Christianity, bringing down the history to the close of the sixth century, and covers in many respects the most important division of the history of Christianity, as it is the common inheritance of the Greek, Latin, and Protestant churches. A German edition of this great work is to appear at Leipsic, simultaneously with the American. There is no living man more thoroughly competent to write an impartial and standard general history of the Christian Church-one that shall give satisfaction to all the branches and schools of it-than Dr. Schaff. And competent critics have already pronounced this work as incomparably the best history of the kind which has been produced. It is certainly an honor to American scholarship -for while Dr. Schaff is German by birth, he is thoroughly American in spirit and by adoption. May his life be spared to complete this great

work, and other important works which he has in hand, not the least of which is the editorship of Lange's Commentary, the successive volumes received with such signal favor. of which, as they appear from time to time, are

Our Mutual Friend, By CHARLES DICKENS. With Original Illustrations, by S. EYTINGE, Jr. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1867. This cannot fail to be the favorite edition of the great novelist's works, judging from the two volumes which have already appeared. The form and style adopted, the paper, presswork, and binding, leave nothing to be desired. The illustrations strike us as very superior. We are not surprised at the large demand which has already sprung up for this new edition.

A Complete Manual of English Literature. By THOMAS B. SHAW, M.A. Edited, with Notes and Illustrations, by WILLIAM SMITH, LL.D. With a Sketch of American Literature, by HENRY T. TUCKERMAN. New-York: Sheldon & Co. 1867. It is a good sign to see works on our own noble tongue multiplying-works, too, of decided merit, which cannot fail to stimulate to a fresh study of and better acquaintance with the language. Müller, Marsh, De Vere, and the present work, are admirably adapted to this end. This Manual was prepared and published in England some years since under the name of Outlines of English Literature. Since then it has been entirely rewritten by the author, with a special view to the requirements of students, so as to make it, as far as space would allow, a complete history of English literature. Dying, however, before the work was published, the Ms. was placed in the hands of Dr. Smith, favorably known as the author of Bible and Classical Dictionaries, who, besides editing the work, added notes and illustrations. In this form it was published in London in 1864, as one of Murray's Student's Manuals. The American edition is from the second English, corrected and added to; and the value of it is greatly enhanced by a sensible and instructive sketch of American literature by one every way competent to do justice to the subject. The work is valuable not only to the student but to the general reader.

SCIENCE.

Mortality of Children.-The following data as to the mortality of children under five years of age in the different countries of Europe possess much interest, and furnish food for serious reflection. Notwithstanding the cold of Norway and the additional demand which cold makes for care in the management of infancy, out of every one hundred children born, a larger percentage live to see their fifth birthday in that country than in any other country of Europe. Out of one hundred children born in Norway, 83 attain the age of five years; in Sweden 80; in Denmark 80, including Slesvig and Holstein down to the Elbe, the country of the Angles of old; in England 74; in Belgium 73; in France 71; in Prussia 68; in Holland 67; in Austria 64; in Spain 64; in Russia 62; in Italy 61. Thus, though the chance is everywhere in favor of life, in one

same.

Professor Tyndall, in his last lecture, on "Vibratory Motion," at the Royal Institution, illustrated the very low conducting power of hydrogen for sound by a novel experiment. A bell struck by clockwork was placed under the receiver of an air-pump, and the air exhausted as perfectly as possible. By applying the ear close to the glass a faint sound could still be heard. The exhausted receiver was then filled with hydrogen, when the bell was again heard to sound, but faintly. On pumping out the hydrogen all trace of sound ceased, even when the ear was placed close to the receiver. Hydrogen being about fifteen times lighter than air, it might be supposed that its low conducting power arose from its tenuity. But such is not the case; the conducting power of air rarefied fifteen fold, and therefore of the same density, exceeds that of hydrogen in a marked degree.

Comets and Meteors.-An Italian astronomer, M. Schiaparelli, has recently published a most extraordinary result, which he has found from some caculations made in reference to the movement of the meteors in space. Until very recent times these wandering items, more popularly known as shooting-stars, were considered merely as belonging to our own atmosphere, or, at most, attendants of our globe. This idea is, however, now given up, and they are supposed to revolve round the sun in the same uniform manner as the larger planets. From M. Schiaparelli's researches it appears that the rough elements of the orbit of the August ring of meteors actually agree with those of a moderately large comet which was visible in 1862. From this we may naturally infer that either the coincidence is accidental, or that comets and meteors are more closely allied than we have hitherto supposed them to be. M. Schiaparelli plainly asserts that the comet of 1862 is really one of the largest of the August ring of meteors. It is not likely, however, that astronomers will immediately receive this assertion without question until further investigations are

made. In the meantime we cannot help considering that this coincidence is one of the most remarkable which we have had in astronomy for a considerable period.

As the time of budding and blossoming is coming on, we make known a simple means of preserving trees from the ravages of insects, which was first published at Lyon by the Imperial Society of Practical Horticulture of the Rhone. The mischief done by insects whose eggs are deposited in buds and blossoms is almost incredible. The remedy is to mix one part of vinegar with nine parts of water, and shower it from a syringe or fine-nosed watering-pot over the trees, plants, or flowers requiring protection. The experiments made in this way in the neighborhood of Lyon have proved eminently successful, the trees so treated having been loaded with fruit, while others which had been let alone bore very scantily. In preparing the solution, it would be well to remember that, as French vinegar is much stronger than English, the quantity of the latter should be increased. Another useful remedy for preventing ants and other insects from crawling up the stems of trees, is to expose lamp-oil for three or four days to the sun till it becomes thick and gummy, and smells disagreeably; then to use it as paint with a small brush, and draw a belt round the stems of the trees, about two inches wide, and two feet from the ground. A fresh coat must be put on day by day for four days, when, if no breaks are left, it will effectually prevent the ascent of insects.—Chambers's Journal.

In the last published part of Transactions of the Entomological Society, an account is given of the alarming ravages of a small, slender species of ant, introduced into St. Helena from the west coast of Africa about twenty years ago. James Town is described as "devastated" by this destructive insect; all the wood-work of the cathedral, of the library, and indeed of the whole town, has been devoured. In their feast of the books, it was noticed that the insects first attacked theological works, probably because they were less disturbed than works of light literature. The only wood which they do not eat is teak, but they will bore through it to get at other wood suited to their tastes which may happen to be placed behind it. Even tin cases are no protection if they become spotted with rust, for the ants at once force an entrance at the spots, and devour the contents. At present, their ravages are confined to James Town; but, if not checked, they may ere long spread over the whole island. The Government are greatly embarrassed to find a way of putting a stop to the destruction, which has occasioned already a loss of some thousands of pounds; and any one who could suggest a remedy would confer an essential benefit on the inhabitants of St. Helena.

The great telegraph line, which the Russians and Americans conjointly are making to connect NewYork with St. Petersburg, is now so far advanced that only 850 miles more are required to complete it from the North Pacific to Pekin. From San Francisco, which has for some years been in telegraphic communication with NewYork, the wires are to be carried up to Behring's Strait, and there cross to the Asiatic side. When