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Appears to refresh the aching eye:

But the barren earth, and the burning sky,
And the blank horizon, round and round,
Spread-void of living sight or sound.

And here, while the night-winds round me sigh,
And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky,
As I sit apart by the desert stone,

Like Elijah at 'Horeb's cave alone,

"A still small voice" comes through the wild
(Like a father consoling his fretful child)
Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear,
Saying "Man is distant, but God is near!"

THOMAS PRingle.

CXIX.-EASTER AT ROME.

ROME, 1833.--This is Friday of the holy week. The host, which was deposited yesterday amid its thousand lamps in the Paoline chapel, was taken from its place this morning in solemn procession, and carried back to the Sistine, after lying in the consecrated place twenty-four hours. Vigils were kept over it all night. The Paoline chapel has no windows, and the lights are so disposed as to multiply its receding arches till the eye is lost in them. The altar on which the host lay was piled up to the roof in a pyramid of light, and with the prostrate figures constantly covering the floor, and the motionless soldiers in antique armor at the entrance, it was like some scene of wild romance.

The ceremonies of Easter Sunday were performed whêre all others should have been-in the body of St. Peter's. Two lines of soldiers, forming an aisle up the centre, stretched from the square without the portico to the sacred sepulchre. Two temporary platforms for the various diplomatic corps and other privileged persons occupied the sides, and the remainder of the church was filled by thousands of strangers, Roman peasantry, and contadinê (in picturesque red "bodices, and with golden bodkins through their hair), from all the neighboring towns.

A loud blast of trumpets, followed by military music, announced the coming of the procession. The two long lines of soldiers presented arms, and the esquires of the pope entered first, in red robes, followed by the long train of °proctors, chamberlains, mitre-bearers, and incense-bearers, the men-at-arms escorting the procession on either side. Just before the cardinals, came a cross-bearer, supported on

either side by men in showy surplices carrying lights, and then came-the long and brilliant line of white-headed °cardinals, in scarlet and °ermine.

The military dignitaries of the monarch preceded the pope, a splendid mass of uniforms, and his holiness then appeared, supported, in his great gold and velvet chair, upon the shoulders of twelve men, clothed in red damask, with a canopy over his head, sustained by eight gentlemen in short, violet-colored silk mantles. Six of the Swiss guard (representing the six catholic cantons) walked near the pope, with drawn swords on their shoulders, and after his chair followed a troop of civil officers, whose appointments I did not think it worth while to inquire. The procession stopped when the pope was opposite the "chapel of the holy sacrament," and his holiness descended. The tiara was lifted from his head by a cardinal, and he knelt upon a cushion of velvet and gold to adore the "sacred host," which was exposed upon the altar. After a few minutes he returned to his chair, his tiara was again set on his head, and the music rang out anew, while the procession swept on to the sepulchre.

The spectacle was all splendor. The clear space through the vast a'rea of the church, lined with glittering soldiery, the dazzling gold and crimson of the coming procession, the high papal chair, with the immense fan-banners of peacock's feathers, held aloft, the almost immeasurable dome and mighty pillars above and around; and the multitude of silent people, produced a scene which, connected with the idea of religious worship, and added to by the swell of a hundred instruments of music, quite dazzled and overpowered me.

The high mass (performed but three times a year) proceeded. At the latter part of it, the pope mounted to the altar, and, after various ceremonies, elevated the sacred host. At the instant that the small white wafer was seen between the golden candlesticks, the two immense lines of soldiers dropped upon their knees, and all the people prostrated themselves at the same instant.

This fine scene over, we hurried to the square in front of the church, to secure places for a still finer one-that of the pope blessing the people. Several thousand troops, cavalry and footmen, were drawn up between the steps and the obelisk, in the centre of the piazza, and the immense area embraced by the two circling colonnades was crowded by, perhaps, a hundred thousand people, with eyes directed to one single point. The variety of bright costumes, the gay liveries of the ambassadors' and cardinals' carriages, the vast body of soldiery, and the magnificent frame of columns and fountains in which this gorgeous picture was contained, formed the grandest scene conceivable.

In a few minutes the pope appeared in the balcony, over the great door of St. Peter's. Every hat in the vast multitude was lifted, and

every knee bowed in an instant. Half a nation prostrate together, and one gray old man lifting up his hands to heaven, and blessing them!

The cannon of the castle of St. Angelo thundered, the innumerable bells of Rome pealed forth simultaneously, the troops fell into line and motion, and the children of the two hundred and fiftyseventh successor of St. Peter departed blessed.

In the evening all the world assembled to see the illumination, which it is useless to attempt to describe. The night was cloudy and black, and every line in the architecture of the largest building in the world was defined in light, even to the cross, which, as I have said before, is at the height of a mountain from the base. For about an hour it was a delicate but vast structure of shining lines, like the drawing of a glorious temple on the clouds. At eight, as the clock struck, flakes of fire burst from every point, and the whole building seemed started into flame. It was done by a simultaneous kindling of torches in a thousand points, a man being stationed at each. The glâre seemed to exceed that of noon-day. No description can give an idea of it. N. P. WILLIS.

CXX.-GREECE.

LAND of the brave and free, the wise and good!
Land of the loved, the mighty, and the strong!
Whose hills are verdant with immortal blood,
And hallowed with high song!

Land of the unforgotten, let me raise

A pæan to thy praise.

Land of the pillared temple, and the shrine

Where stood the glory of the sculptor's hand

Groups of the godlike, lovely, and divine,

In many a sacred band

"Praxiteles created, °Phidias formed,

And all but life had warmed!

Land in whose shrine the Gods have found a home!
Land in whose temples Pallas loved to dwell!
Land in whose streams the "Naiads loved to roam,

Blowing the wreathed shell!

Land of the classic tale, the mythic lay,

How have they passed away!

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Land of the "Porch, where stood the men of old
Giving the listening people thought and sense-
Where wisdom was not bartered out for gold,

And truth gave no offence!

Land in whose groves philosophy was sung,
And art and science sprung!

Land where the earth is lovely, and the sea,
Like a young bride, all joyful in her smiles,
Where the sun loved to shine upon the free,
Over her thousand isles,

Her 'Parian marble, and her 'Scian wine,

And Sappho's song divine!

Land where the mountains tower into the skies-
Such as wild Athos of the cloud-capt brow!
Land of the beautiful!-where Tempe lies,
Is there not beauty now?

Yes!-in each stream and wood, and vale and hill,
Thou art as lovely still.

Land of Homeric song! whose fields were trod
By men of strength, the mighty in the war!
Chiefs of the phalanx, each in arms a god,
Such as old "Ilion saw-

Beating their way along the thickest fight,
With a resistless might.

"The Persian king rode on through armed bands,

Through ranks of glittering spears and falchions bright,

Of nameless myriads, come from all the lands.

That feared the great king's might:—

Kingdoms and nations, famed in war and peace,

Were joined to conquer Greece.

Where can we find such heroes ?—where can dwell

In what far-land-what undiscovered coast

Like the devoted band-like those who fell

Beneath the Persian host?

Oh! for a few Thermopyla has known,
And Greece holds still her own!

Oh! for the glorious days that once had been!
Mycale-Platæa-ye the days can tell!

Oh! for the mighty men those days have seen;
Oh! for the dead that fell,

When the invader led his host of slaves,
To find in Greece their graves!

Oh! for Miltiades, and those who fought
At Marathon, where still the invaders lie!
Oh! for the brave 'Leonidas, who taught
Three hundred how to die!

Oh! for the Macedonian, and the might,
That made the world his right!

Raise high the pæan, men of 'Hellas! raise
The song of triumph on the trumpet blast!
Sing the immortal deeds of other days-
The mighty of the past!

Oh! if the light, that round such deeds is thrown,
Could glorify your own!

ANONYMOUS.

CXXI.-YOUTH OF HENRY CLAY.

TRADITION alleges, that the Rev. John Clay, the father of Henry Clay, was a man of great vigor of character, of exemplary virtue and manners, and of a nice and high sense of the decorums and proprieties of the social relations-not unlike the son, who has made the world familiar with the name of Clay. It is also in evidence, that the mother of Henry Clay was adorned with eminent female virtues, and that she continued to interest herself in the fortunes of Henry to the last of a good old age.

The father of Henry Clay died in 1781, bequeathing to his widow little else than an estate of seven children, Henry being then four years old. Obliged by her straitened circumstances to make the most of the ability of her children to help her, Mrs. Clay did not, however, neglect to send them to school. Henry's tuition, for the term of about three years, was committed to the charge of one Peter Deacon, an Englishman, who came to America under a cloud, receiving occasional remittances from home, while he was employed for years as the schoolmaster of the "Slashes," in which capacity he did himself credit, except that he would have done better if teetotalism had begun in his days, and comprehended himself. His school-house was made of a crib of logs, with no floor but the earth, the entrance serving for door, window, and air, being always open. Under these rather inauspicious advantages, Henry Clay was put forward by Peter Deacon, in reading, writing, and arithmetic; in the latter, to use Mr. Clay's own words, as far as Practice."

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