speaking to the king, I saw how the fullness and expansion of your inner life shone like a crown around your head; and I said within myself: This man, who, by some inexplicable, holy faith, anticipates the life to come, is the true king; because the man whose thoughts and feelings are most conversant with the immensities of time and space, is the most king-like of men — the essence of life lies therein. He, on the contrary, who bears the name of king, but is less than man, speaks as if borne down by the burdensome necessity of sinking his own identity in that of some deceased ancestor,-Louis XIV., Louis XV., or any other, any one, in fact, but himself; and so much is this the case, that, to feel his own life, he seeks self-deception regarding his rank; he takes a share in the people's work, adopts the name of a citizen, and for a time fancies himself a citizen. When monarchy has come to such a pass it prefers life at all hazards to fiction, and is ready to lay down the crown."

999

A lady in the court befriends him in language which savors of irreligion.

"Mademoiselle,' replied the pastor, in a tone of melancholy seriousness, 'allow me to say that at your age it is not right to take God's Name in vain, losing thus all respect for it; for in the day of trouble that Name is the refuge of the human soul; and if ever your life, which lies before you full of promise, should turn to disappointment, that Name alone will bring you a consolation you will not find elsewhere.'

666

"May God preserve the sacred flame that now burns in your soul, for the cause of humanity; you will then take rank amongst the noble women of the primitive Church; but recollect, that to love man is also to love him who was on this earth the supreme ideal of love.'

"My dear sir,' said Franklin to the pastor, as they left the Hotel Pisani together, 'you are, doubtless, destined to see, at some time or other, the political regeneration of your country; but hearken to me, and put no faith in a revolution provoked by the aristocracy, for it is but a hollow demonstration, and has no ballast to steady it on the waves of changing events. Whenever the clergy, amongst a people, are inimical to liberty, and the liberal party, in a spirit of reprisal, thinks itself entitled to cast aside all thought of religion, the hour of reckoning for that people may have struck on the dialplate of history; but the democracy, though at first victorious, will. always eventually lose. Liberty and religion are the soul's most

sacred forces, and man has not an overabundance of these combined forces, for success in the most difficult work, perhaps, in this world, the work of a revolution. A liberal atheist is a disguised partisan of despotism.""

The object of the pastor's visit to Paris was gained. He is with the king's minister of state, Malesherbes.

"While Malesherbes was speaking, the clock in his room struck the hour of noon. Pastor Jarousseau had been accustomed for upwards of twenty years to wind up his watch at this hour, and the physical regularity of the act had become part of his nervous system. With his finger he slid the two hands on to the hour of noon, and then looked thoughtfully on the dial-plate.

"This is the hour I have always dedicated to thought. Now it is marked. This dial-plate shall no longer show the course of time; for the hour that has struck is God's hour. And hear me, for one idea gives rise to another; perhaps what I am going to say may be indecorous, Monsieur le Ministre, but you will pardon it in consideration of my good intentions. The heart requires reciprocity. When it has received it wishes to give. You have given me a snuff-box; permit me to offer you this watch in remembrance of this interview-our last, perhaps, here below. It is, indeed, unworthy of you, or even of your lackey. But since I have lived the true life, it has been associated with every feeling of my soul; its invisible pendulum has beaten in sympathy with my watchings, my meditations, prayers and groans; it has spoken to me of life, of death, of the past and the future. When hopeful, my thoughts have been confided to it; and, looking at the marks around the dial-plate, I have said: "When will the hands point to that blessed moment when, with a loud shout, the truth now slighted will be proclaimed all over the world, bidding those who are bound down by affliction to arise and be free?" You are a philosopher, Monsieur Malesherbes, therefore you understand me. This watch is more than a thing of copper or silver. It is a man's thought; and therefore a living thing. As such, I venture to offer it to you.'

"As such I accept it,' said Malesherbes, giving his hand. 'I will suspend it over my mantlepiece as the relic of a good man, to bring happiness to my household. Since you wish it, the hands shall always remain at the hour where you have placed them, that whenever I look at them I may be reminded that this was the hour in which I first gave a hope of liberty, and that I may be urged to fulfill my promise.""

IN MEMORIAM.

E. A., APRIL 23, 1872.

"PLAYMATE, dear, little boy, of long, ago!
Come back to me and clasp my mittened hand!
Yes! come and course the steep and crusty snow,
Or skate, if little boys can totter, stand!

"This kite is mine! But you shall see it fly!

String some of the 'bob' and ballast, with a weed! Then, it won't dive, won't swerve; but hover high, And snap the strongest twine! It will, indeed!"

Room-mates, Exonians, almost half a year!

Rings, sets, our bell, tolls, tolls, for morning prayer!
Hot toast waives modesty, fun, fright! We hear!
A bow releases, - starts fleet hound and hare!

How dearer still the friend, at Harvard, bred!
How dear, the talks, long walks, at even-tide!
The cloak which masked suspenders, sleepy head,
A smothered laugh and wicked wink, — aside.

Ah! dearer yet were days of soberer lives,

When envious Time had moved our chairs apart; When Cupid, Cash, had shot, snared husbands, wives, Built telegraphs, for distance, home and heart.

Mutual, our fleeting hours seemed years of joy!
Fun, wit, mirth, sentiment, oozed, popped, the cork!
Aye, then the sage could be, again, "small boy,"
Spear puns, in scolloped oysters, with a fork.

Rides mingled pills and splints, with visits, glad,

Stretched, clipped Time's broad, strong, fluttering wing.

Lolled in the chaise a visitor, mute and sad,

Scanned trees, clouds, roads, geese, cows, hens,-every-thing!

Dear sympathy with sickness, lameness, sorrow;
Fond sister-hearts, with deep regret, again,
Were parted, tearful, on the morrow.

Dearest of all were hours to memory dear,

When Quiet, noiseless, lit her carcel lamp; Mute Silence, eager, drew her rocker, near,

Heard stray "Sibylline Leaves," from stroll, or tramp!

Then did sweet tones of prose, or song, fall, soft,
On ears entranced, perfumed with breathing rose !
Souls listened, thrilled, yearned, soared, aloft!
(One dreamed of heaven, in exquisite repose!)

And sweetly sad were anxious, broken years,
Which lingered, faltered, stumbled o'er the way;
When smiling Hope wiped slyly bitter tears,

Black clouds and gloom enwrapped the dismal day.

Has angel Hope departed, heavenward-grieved?
Must pulses wring our hearts, at every beat?
Hast thou deserted us, in tears, — bereaved?
Why turn not back thy stern, retiring feet?

Wisdom, inscrutable, weaves shawls, from night!
Wraps, soothes our sorrows, cares, alarms to sleep.
Pure Love still beams in gloom, as in the light,

At midnight, bright, for all, who watch, to weep!

We bow in gratitude, in faith, in love,

To kiss the Hand of Love, put forth in Power!
We hear the wings, we see the Heavenly Dove,
Of Hope, sweet Peace, in sunshine, falling shower!

We hope, still love, yet weeping, shout, rejoice!

Our Saviour strains thee, to his throbbing breast, With rapture, breathes a kind, approving voice, Welcomes, rewards, gives joy, in peace and rest!

W. E. A.

TOPICS OF THE MONTH.

BY THE EDITOR.

FREDERIC DENISON MAURICE.

WE have read in "The Bridport (Eng.) News" an interesting account of Prof. Maurice by our friend, Rev. R. L. Carpenter. We should be glad to copy the whole notice, but our limits confine us to a few extracts from it. We never have questioned the great ability and personal influence of Prof. Maurice, but we never have been able to read his works with satisfaction or profit. There is an indistinctness, a haziness or indefiniteness about them which has rendered it difficult for us to make much progress in our attempts at mastering them. But there are minds to whom this very quality is a recommendation. We quote from Mr. Carpenter's appreciative and impartial discourse:

"The estimates formed of Prof. Maurice by the journals of all churches - Jewish, Catholic, Protestant, Established, and Dissenting, as well as by the secular papers show that he was no ordinary man. His father, the Rev. Michael Maurice, was a Unitarian minister, settled for many years at Frenchay, near Bristol. He was a man of superior powers, religious fervor, and great benevolence; but his success in life, both as a minister and schoolmaster, was hindered by the opposition to his religious influence by his wife and daughters, who belonged to the evangelical church. The late Prof. Maurice inherited from both parents a desire for religious truth. He joined the church of his mother, but he carried into it much of the spirit of his father. Perhaps the remembrance of the division in sentiment between those whom he loved made him more earnest to abate religious bigotry, and to show sympathy for all, of every creed, who were seeking after God. When a student he had felt scruples against signing the thirty-nine articles; but when those scruples were overcome he devoted himself to the service of the Established Church with remarkable fidelity. He connected with the old creeds some principles that were regarded as new. An