their frailties, and charity demands that we should look at their case as favorably as we may, while the many and essential services they rendered the suffering cause of Christendom, can not be too dearly cherished or too fondly recurred to.

Though no Homer has arisen to sing in matchless numbers of their heroic deeds, yet will their fame be as enduring as if the master hand that penned the great Grecian epic, had himself related, with almost ideal elegance and beauty, the story of their rise, their aspirations, and their wrongs. F. R. D.

ITALY.

BY SAMUEL ROGERS.

Am I in Italy? Is this the Mincius?
Are those the distant turrets of Verona?
And shall I sup where Juliet at the mask

Saw her loved Montague, and now sleeps by him?
Such questions hourly do I ask myself;
And not a finger-post by the road side
"To Mantua". -"To Ferrara"-but excites
Surprise, and doubt, and self-congratulation.
O Italy, how beautiful thou art!

Yet could I weep- for thou art lying, alas!
Low in the dust; and they who come, admire thee
As we admire the beautiful in death.

Thine was a dangerous gift, the gift of beauty.
Would thou hadst less, or wert as once thou wast,
Inspiring awe in those who enslave thee!

-But why despair? Twice hast thou lived already,
Twice shone among the nations of the world,

As the sun shines among the lesser lights

Of heaven; and shalt again. The hour shall come,
When they who think to bind the ethereal spirit,
Who, like the eagle cowering o'er his prey,

Watch with quick eye, and strike and strike again
If but a sinew vibrate, shall confess

Their wisdom folly. E'en now the flame

Bursts forth where once it burnt so gloriously,

And, dying, left a splendour like the day,

That like the day diffused itself, and still

Blesses the earth-the light of genius, virtue,

Greatness in thought and act, contempt of death,
God-like example. Echoes that have slept
Since Athens, Lacedæmon, were themselves,
Since men invoked "By those in Marathon!"
Awake along the Egean; and the dead,

They of that sacred shore, have heard the call,
And through the ranks, from wing to wing, are seen
Moving as once they were-instead of rage,
Breathing deliberate valor.

IDLENESS.

A PLEASING land of drowsy heads it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye,
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer's sky.

JAMES MONTGOMERY, THE POET.

BY THE EDITOR.

"For ever with the Lord."

This aged and pious Poet has gone to his rest and his reward. He died at his residence at Mt. Sheffield on the 30th of April-on Sabbath afternoon. On the day of holy rest his peaceful spirit found its final rest in that "sleep in Jesus" from which "none ever wake to weep!!"

We have always admired Montgomery as a Poet, for the calm holy light which his piety sheds around his poetry. He lived for higher purposes than mere earthly fame. He did not rise, wild and fearful like a sky-rocket, to enlighten the world by a fitful glare; but, like the calm moon, reflecting the softened but true light of the Sun of Righteousness. He has gone down behind the horizon of earth, to shine on more brightly and forever nearer that source, whose light, while on earth, he considered it his highest honor and happiness to reflect. We felt singularly impressed when we read the announcement of his death; it was as if a father had gone. We paused, with paper in hand, and sighed after him in the beautiful and touching words which he himself had long since taught us:

There is a calm for those who weep,

A rest for weary pilgrims found,
They softly lie and sweetly sleep

Low in the ground.

The storm that racks the wintry sky
No more disturbs their deep repose
Than summer evening's latest sigh
That shuts the rose!

We give a short sketch of his life from the London Times. It will be found interesting and instructive, especially to the young affording another instance of the fact that industry, perseverance, and the fear of God, will always conduct to honor and usefulness: "James Montgomery was born as long ago as Nov. 4, 1771, at Irvine, in Ayrshire. His father was a Moravian missionary, who, leaving his son in Yorkshire to be educated, went to the West Indies, where he and the poet's mother both died.

"When only twelve years old, the bent of the boy's mind was shown by the production of various small poems. These indications could not save him at first from the fate of the poor, and he was sent to earn his bread as assistant in a general shop. He thirsted for other occupations, and one day set off with 3s. 6d. in his pocket to walk to London, to seek fame and fortune. In his first effort he broke down, and for a while gave up his plan to take service in another situation. Only for a time, however, was he content, and a second effort to reach the metropolis was successful, so far as

bringing him to the spot he had longed for, but unsuccessful to his main hope that of finding a publisher for a volume of his verses. But the bookseller, who refused Montgomery's poems, accepted his labor, and made him his shopman.

"Fortune, however, as she generally does, smiled at last on the zealous youth, and in 1792 he gained a post in the establishment of Mr. Gales, a bookseller of Sheffield, who had set up a newspaper called the Sheffield Register. On this paper Montgomery worked con amore, and when his master had to fly from England to avoid imprisonment for printing articles too liberal for the then despotic government of England, the young poet became the editor and publisher of the paper, the name of which he changed to Sheffield Iris. In the columns of this print, he advocated political and religious freedom, and such conduct secured for him the attentions of the Attorney General, by whom he was prosecuted, fined, and imprisoned; in the first instance for re-printing a song commemorating "The fall of the Bastile;' in the second case for an account he gave of a riot in Sheffield.

"Confinement could not crush his love of political justice, and on his second release he went on advocating the doctrines of freedom as before, in his paper and in his books. In the lengthy periods between those times and the present, the beliefs which James Montgomery early pioneered in England, have obtained general recognition, and, as men became more and more liberal, our poet gained more and more esteem.

"He contributed to magazines, and, despite adverse criticism, in the Edinburg Review, established his right to rank as a poet. In 1797 he published "Prison Amusements;" in 1805 the "Ocean;" in 1806 the "Wanderer in Switzerland;" in 1809 the "West Indies;" and in 1812 "The World before the Flood." By these works he obtained the chief reputation he has since enjoyed. In 1819 appeared "Greenland," a poem in five cantos; and in 1828 "The Pelican Island," and other poems. In 1851, the whole of his works were issued in one volume 8vo., and of which two editions are in circulation; and in 1853 "Original Hymns, for Public, Private, and Social Devotion." This venerable poet enjoyed a well-deserved literary pension of £150 a year."

The writer of the brief notice of his life and genius, which precedes a collection of his Poems, says truly:

"Those who can distinguish the fine gold from the 'sounding brass' of poetry, must place the name of James Montgomery high in the list of British poets; and those who consider that the chiefest duty of such is to promote the cause of religion, virtue, and humanity, must acknowledge in him one of their most zealous and efficient advocates. He does not, indeed, often aim at bolder flights of imagination; but if he seldom rises above, he never sinks beneath, the object of which he desires the attainment. If he rarely

startles us, he still more rarely leaves us dissatisfied; he does not attempt that to which his powers are unequal, and therefore is at all times successful. To the general reader, it will seem as if the early bias of his mind and his first associations had tinged-we may not say tainted-the source from whence he drew his inspirations, and that his poems are 'sicklied o'er' with peculiar impressions and opinions which fail to excite the sympathy of the great mass of mankind. We should, however, recollect, that, although he has chiefly addressed himself to those who think with him, his popularity is by no means confined to them; but that those who read poetry for the delight it affords them, and without any reference to his leading design, acknowledge his merit, and contribute to his fame.'

Montgomery was a worthy member of the Moravian church up his death. In his old age, in 1849, he rendered "valuable service" in enlarging and improving their collection of hymns in England. Many of his hymns are to be found in the collections of the various christian denominations, and are equal favorites with all.

Now that he has gone to his rest, and is "forever with the Lord," how touching is the following beautiful hymn, the breathing forth of his soul in old age! He now knows what it is to be with the Lord; but the bliss of being "forever with the Lord," will require an eternity to learn and experience!

THE BISHOP AND THE BIRDS.

A BISHOP who had for his arms two field-fares, with the motto, "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?" thus explained the matter to an intimate friend:

Many years ago, a little boy resided at a village near Dillengen, on the banks of the Danube. His parents were very poor, and almost as soon as the boy could walk he was sent into the woods to pick up some sticks for fuel. When he grew older, his father taught him to pick the juniper-berries, and carry them to a neighboring distiller, who wanted them for making Hollands.

Day by day the poor boy went to his task, and on his road he passed the open windows of the village school, where he saw the schoolmaster teaching a number of boys about the same age as himself. He looked at these boys with feelings of envy, so earnestly did he long to be among them. He was quite aware it was in vain to ask his father to send him to school, for he knew that his parents had no money to pay the schoolmaster; and he often passed the whole day thinking while he was gathering the juniperberries, what he could possibly do to please the schoolmaster, in the hope of getting some lessons.

One day, when he was walking sadly along, he saw two boys belonging to the school trying to set a bird-trap, and he asked one what that was for? The boy told him that the schoolmaster was very fond of the field-fares, and they were setting a trap to catch some. This delighted the poor boy, for he recollected that he had often seen a greater number of these birds in the juniper wood, where they came to eat the juniper-berries, and he had no doubt that he could catch some.

The next day the little boy borrowed an old basket of his mother, went to the wood, and he had the great delight to catch two fieldfares. He then put them in a basket, an tying and old handkerchief over it, he took them to the schoolmaster's house. Just as he arrived at the door he saw the two little boys whom he had seen setting the trap, and with some alarm he asked them if they had caught any birds? They answered in the negative; and the boy, his heart beating with joy, gained admittance into the presence of the schoolmaster. In a few words he told how he caught the birds to bring them as a present to the master.

"A present, my good boy!" cried the schoolmaster, "you do not look as if you could afford much presents. Tell me your price and I will pay you and thank you besides?"

"I would rather give them to you, sir, if you please," said the boy.

The schoolmaster looked at the boy, who stood before him with