truth be, and how What a meaning

once believed in, how mighty would this would all other truths centre around it! there would be in the Eucharist, if you knew and felt that Christ were present, and how much more sweet and tender would be its communings! How little should we preach ourselves, and how rather should we lose ourselves in him! How would all other topics take their tone and coloring from this, and be redolent of the spirit of Jesus! How would all reforms be pervaded by the spirit of the one great Reformer! How would the broken members of his Church gather again around the living centre, and speculations about the atonement be forgotten in the one atoning power that makes the believers at one with each other and with itself! And how would the growth of the churches depend, not mainly on the personal gifts of the preachers, but on Him who walks in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks, and keeps their lights burning with everlasting brilliancy!

Christian friends and brethren, may yours be such a church and such a ministry. May the living Christ be in each, and out of him may you have springs of prosperity and peace which shall never fail. The Church is dead, morality is dead, religion and worship are dead, truth itself is dead, being a dry abstraction, except so far as Christ comes within. them, and by his personal presence makes them glow with the Comforter and live. So may he come and abide with you!

And you, my brother! May he come to you and make your work delightful. That done, it is its own exceeding great reward. More than all the glittering prizes of wealth and ambition are the satisfactions that await you, if only the living Christ be the soul of your endeavors; for that will make all your burdens light, and turn your work into song! I may not encroach upon another exercise of this occasion; but having known through what struggles, trials, and disappointments you have persevered unto the end, and finally brought your powers as a whole offering to this work, I may utter this word of hope and gratulation. May the as

pirations of years, often baffled, be realized now! And may the blessing be yours, my brother, which always waits on singleness of purpose in the highest work which God has committed to man!

ODE.

THE ASCENSION.

FROM FRAY LUIS DE LEON.*

"We have great pleasure in giving insertion in the pages of the 'Revista' to this celebrated Ode of Fray Luis de Leon, now complete, and enriched by four stanzas more than are to be found in any of the Spanish collections, from that of Quevedo of to that of our contemporary, Aribau.

"We are indebted, for this valuable literary novelty, to the noble disinterestedness and love of letters of our friend and co-laborer, the accomplished jurist and distinguished Sevillian poet, D. Juan José Bueno, who has preserved this composition (as well as many others by Leon, hitherto unpublished, but which we intend hereafter to give) in a manuscript collection of works of the sixteenth century; all of which have been acquired by him by unwearied toil, and costly sacrifices in getting together and examining all the works pertaining to this golden age of our classic literature." - Extract from the "Revista de Ciencias, Literatura y Artes," of February 1, 1858, published in Seville.

ACTS i. 9. And when he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight."

AND dost thou, Holy Shepherd, leave
Thy flock in this deep vale obscure,
In silent solitude to grieve,

Whilst thou to thine abode secure
Cleavest the air serene and pure?

These, now so sad, dejected here,

But once so richly, deeply blessed,

Where shall they turn 'mid doubt and fear?-
They, of thy presence dispossessed,
Who to thy bosom once were pressed?

What can these eyes, that in thy face

A rich and peerless beauty found,
In all else now but sorrow trace?

Of thy sweet voice, who heard the sound,
And finds aught else, but sadness round?

Who shall this troubled sea restrain?
Who o'er its billows calmly ride?
Who to the winds give peace again?
What star our bark to port shall guide,
If thou from us thy face dost hide?

And thou, O cloud, that this brief joy
Dost bear from us so quickly, say,
Why dost thou thus our hopes destroy?-
How rich, thou goest on thy way!
How poor, how blind, alas! we stay!

With thee the treasure disappears,
The richest boon to us below;
Which banisheth all earthly tears,

And doth o'er life more lustre throw
Than purest day could e'er bestow.

What diamond band, or jewelled stone,
Can bind the spirit, or restrain
From following thee, thou Loving One?
O break, my soul, from that sad chain,
And bathe thy wings in light again!

What! dost thou the departure fear?

Can loss of earth more than of Him
Create a pang, or start a tear?—

Of his fond gaze beneath the beam
To dwell, can this a sorrow seem?

O Thou, most precious Lord and Friend!
Father and Brother, Heavenly Spouse!
On thee my eager steps attend;

For, reft of thee, this vale of woes

Is reft of joy, of hope, repose.

C. F. B.

Que nos resplandecia

Mil veces mas que el puro y claro dia. ¿Será acaso violencia

Qué lazo de diamante

¡Ay! alma, te detiene y encadena

A no seguir tu amante? ¡Ay! rompe y sal de pena: Colócate yá libre en luz serena.

¡Qué! ¿temes la salida? ¿Podrá el terreno amor más que la au

sencia

De tu querer y vida?

Vivir siempre de Cristo en la presencia?

Dulce Señor y Amigo,

Dulce Padre y Hermano, dulce Esposo,

En pos de tí yo sigo;

Que en este lagrimoso

Destierro, no hay, sin tí, bien ni re

poso.

A MEMORIAL OF HELEN RUTHVEN WATERSTON.

DIED at Naples in Italy, July 25th, aged seventeen years, Helen Ruthven, the daughter of the Rev. Robert C. Waterston of Boston.

She died far away from her native country, and far from the sight of nearly all of her many friends. They had been looking for her eagerly and hopefully, and expecting her arrival the very month of her death. But they were not to see her. On her leaving America, she was a child of a sweet temper, affectionate, and obedient. But during her absence she bloomed into a womanhood of much beauty and many graces, and into a character of great worth and high promise. Alas for her parents, whose only surviving child she was! and alas for those many friends, who had longed to behold her in the loveliness of that beauty of which they had seen only the buds, and for whom she died a lily in a distant land!

Helen was born in Boston, on the 6th of January, 1841. And she was reared under the best influences of a New England home. In April, 1856, she was taken by her parents to Europe. The whole of the following winter and spring was passed by her in Paris, where she cheerfully submitted herself to the discipline of a school, which, for its strictness, might almost have been called conventual, only that it was Protestant. She attended the class for religious instruction held at the Church of the Oratory by the Rev. Athanasius Coquerel, and profited so much, as to have attained, though a foreigner, the most honorable position among her associates. Last winter she was in Rome, where she occupied herself with those pleasures which resemble studies, and with those studies which are so like pleasures, visiting works of art, and learning the great lessons of antiquity, which there are illustrated by the Pantheon and the Coliseum, by the Arches of Titus and Constantine, and by