His mansion, situated on the high grounds over the western wall, commanded a perfect view for miles around. On the right, a dark river, completely hidden in the shadow of the cliffs, foamed along, and tall cedars rose one above another to the mountain tops that were continuous with the great Lebanon range. On the left, the spires of the great city shot up from the mass of square roofed dwellings, and parts of the gray wall were seen in the distance. Beyond, a sea of foliage waved mile after mile to the edge of the lake, and the sides of the far off mountains on the East. It was the palmy day of Antioch, the slight earthquakes of years before had not shaken the confidence of the people, or forced them to build their houses low, and avoid the vicinity of the loftier edifices,-temple and pillar stood in many places, undisturbed as yet, by the zeal of the Christians, and more than three hundred churches attested the numbers and spirit of her inhabitants. The moon, not yet at her full, was rising in the east, and in the clear atmosphere, gave distinctness and relief to the most distant objects. The old man gazed long upon the peaceful, and yet varied scene. Thoughts of days gone by, and musings on things to come must have been suggested by the prospect. He had looked on that same valley during the high day and decline of life. Where all was now so still, he had heard the tramp of armies, and seen the fierce conflict of sects and partisans. The alternations of hope and fear, that had preceded and followed the sway of each successive emperor, from the great Constantine down to the present, must have been crowded into the rapid moments that were spent in his gaze over the balcony. He was the last representative of a line of sages that went back more than a thousand years, the last living stone of that great temple of faith wherein the two mightiest empires of Antiquity had worshiped. It was not him alone that the age had scouted and rejected, he was but the expounder of a great system, -but one of a mighty throng who had gone before him. His age had rejected the counsels and the experience of all their fathers, and the feeling of indignation that had so often broken forth in the days of his strength, was glowing again in his heart, now rapidly numbering its last throbs. He raised himself by a sudden,—almost convulsive effort, and murmured forth his thoughts, apparently unconscious of the presence of the slaves: "Alone! In truth I am; but I come soon to ye now; ye have been with me, so, these many years; have I not heard your voices?-have I not seen ye on the

furrowed pages ye have left? Ye were the great and good of days gone by, and who of those that tread the soil ye hallowed once, are worthy to know ye? Ye touched the lyre,—a rude and sylvan thing it was, but Poesy had her home there, the nations have stopped to listen, ever since. Ye held communings with yourselves, and Truth was in those early whisperings,-ye gazed upon the glorious Earth, -ye knew that gods were in it, and that was Faith enough. While ye sat in her councils the state was sure, and when ye lit the flaming brand of war, it left a lasting glory round your brows. And when this dull age is gone, shall ye not live on earth again? Ah! I had fondly hoped myself the god-appointed messenger to the expectant future. O! Glaucon, Glaucon, why hast thou saddened my life thus? Thou shoulds't have been the great defender of the dead, the teacher of those who are to come. And my grandson,-will he heed my last words? will he face the current of the age? Alas! he is too young. I am alone,-alone. Yet would I could gaze upon thy fare, my boy,—thy mother will ask me of thy welfare, in the happy fields;-tell me,-he turned to the slaves, "is there hope of the arrival of my son ere long?

They had stood quietly back during the murmured soliloquy of the old man,-it was nothing unusual for him thus to speak aloud his thoughts; one of them now advanced with the reply: A day must yet elapse before he can reach Antioch, at least so thought the sailors we inquired of. The dying man fell back upon his couch,-the excitement that had sustained him gave way to exhaustion. That life was ebbing fast away, was too apparent. The slaves exchanged glances of intelligence, and one of them spoke his thought: "He will gaze no more at evening, on the earth. The hand of death is on him."

Hour after hour passed away, and still the slaves stood over him. His breathing grew fainter.-they could not rouse him by their calls, or in any way attract his attention. The moon had passed to the west, and threw a strange glare on the rushing river beneath,-another hour, and the dawning day would streak the East,-but Libanius was not to gaze again upon the sun. The slaves started as the door opened, and a group of persons noiselessly entered.

"Doth he live?" whispered one to the slave who stood farthest from the couch.

"Scarcely" was the reply, "He has been dying through the long night. I fear ye have come too late."

The last words of the slave were unheeded. The stranger who had so abruptly put the question, was already kneeling by the couch. "Father! father! 'tis Glaucon calls. Father." The old man opened his eyes and gazed on him with a steady stare, but gave no sign of recognition. The voice of his son still called with that peculiar tone of mingled earnestness and mildness heard only by the bedside of the dying. Slowly, as the accents came on his ear, the old man seemed to be rousing his faculties once more. A momentary gleam of intelligence shot from his eyes, and then he closed them again. Still did that tender tone entreat him, and when the eyes opened again, they smiled upon his son. From him, he turned to Myra, who stood on the opposite side of the couch,-he glanced inquiringly upon his son for a moment, and then with a look of reproach, motioned her away. He essayed to speak, but a rattling sound was all that could be distinguished, and a sudden expression of anguish passed over his features. His son hid his face in his hands, and wept aloud. Myra, unable to bear his grief, stole to his side, and winding her arm around him, pressed her cheek to his. The grandson was kneeling on the right of the couch, and Ludovic alone stood, gazing intently on the wasted form before him. The expression of sharp pain passed away a moment after, and the old man looked again on his son. Apparently the tender care of Myra softened him,-he reached out feebly, and taking her hand laid it on the hand of his son, and pressed both with his own. He turned to his grandson, and glanced from him to the rolls on the opposite wall,—it was a glance of anxiety and significance. The youth understood him, and turned to Ludovic, as if for aid. The Presbyter seemed to comprehend, at once, what was passing in the mind of the dying man, and in a tone of deep emotion he spoke: "Aye, they shall live. Fear not for them. The religion they held was of Earth, and it has passed away,—but their genius and greatness were the gifts of Heaven. They shall surely walk in ages coming, through the abodes of men."

The eye of the old sophist was lit, once more, he gave the speaker a look full of gratitude, and roused himself to gaze again upon the world he was leaving. It was that strangely mysterious hour that precedes the dawn,-the vast waste of foliage to the east had a chilling, startling power in its unearthly stillness,-the river gurgled dismally below, he raised his arm and pointed to the West,-the wind moaned through the dark cedars on the mountains, a hoarse

rattle sounded in his throat, and he fell back suddenly on the couch. There was a smile of triumph on his lips,-but as Ludovic pressed his hand beneath the linen folded on his breast,-he found that the heart was still, he had stood on the last rampart of the Ancient Faith, and done battle, his life-long, with an advancing age,-but his conflicts on earth were over,—he was at rest in the land of the unknown.

EDITORS' TABLE.

And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part.

Hamlet.

Those "old familiar" tones that from the Chapel Tower ushered in a new term, and aroused College Hill from the torpidity of vacation into life and activity, have now sped their way over the valleys, and died on the hill sides, that surround us.

With the entrance of the term closes our little performance, and the actors now make their exit. Many things there are we would say on this occasion, but to the favors of our contributors we willingly give way and will crowd the little we must say into the smallest compass.

This, it would seem, is the last of the Indicators. In the reasonable expectation of able successors and long life to our Maga we are disappointed. Pleasant anticipations were those, we had indulged, of the career our Periodical would run beside the kindred attempts of sister institutions, and the reception it would meet in the heart of our New England Home. Who are responsible for this, where the blame falls, if any, of dropping the enterprise at this stage, let them answer whom it concerns. We reluctantly mention the fact, and Icavə the matter there. But we must forego our wonted chat with our readers and yield the little remaining space, to notice a few more glaring oversights of the press, leaving many for their indulgence to overlook or good sense to correct.

Page 18 line 6 from bottom for there, read then, and after falls insert as; page 38 line 4 from bottom for purify, read putrefy; page 49 line 7 for Escyhlus read Eschylus; page 67 line 2 from bottom for feign, read fain; page 73 line 9 for Plato, read Pluto; page 120 line 4 from bottom for Molthus, read Malthus; p. 121 line 11 from bottom for and was read and I was; p. 136 line 21 for body, read lady; p. 148 line 4 for hopeless, read hapless; p. 148 line 7 after path insert his feet; p. 209 line 12 for stay, read stale.

To SUBSCRIBERS.-Our thanks are due to our subscribers for their very general promptitude, but all the arrears have not as yet come in, and we would request early attention to the same.