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backed by ancient plantations.* We have back by disappointment— all pilgrims – never visited a scene more suggestive of all troubled-all unsafe—all uncertain of calm and serious thought; its effect was success; whose ears hear the church-bells, increased by the winning voice of the though their promise may not strike upon church-bell, fraught with its divine mes- the heart? Pilgrims, and weary and profitsage, swelling above the landscape; the less pilgrims are we all, to ourselves and mingled congregation moving on noise- others, until we find the right path ; and lessly, the rich and poor, the old and keeping our eyes fixed upon the bright young, might have been imagined an ar- star of salvation, hold out both hands to ray of pilgrims, bound for the sacred tem- help onward our fellow-men; knowing and ple. “Imagined !” Were they not so ?

Were they not so ? believing that, despite the hardest the Are we not all pilgrims, toiling onward; world can do unto us, there is a living and working our way through anxieties and eternal hope which never fails ! tribulations, now led forward by hope, O what glad tidings of great joy are now lured aside by temptations, now driven brought to every faithful heart by these

musical church-bells ! In groups, or one * The reasons which induced our English by one, the congregation entered the porch. ancestors so constantly to plant yew-trees in And yet the scene had so inspired us with churchyards have been variously stated. Some meditation, that we still lingered within affirm that it was to insure a supply of yew: the inclosure.* bows that the young men of the parish might practice archery, when enjoined by law. But The bell ceased—the only living creaBrady, in his Člavis Calendaria, says: “ Among ture lingering on the path was a pretty, our superstitious forefathers, the palm-tree, or its substitute box and yew, were solemnly blessed on Palm-Sunday, and some of their • In the olden time the church porch was branches burnt to ashes and used on Ash-Wed- the gathering-place for the villagers; and here nesday in the following year; while other marriages were solemnized. The reader of boughs were gathered and distributed among

Chaucer will remember the Wife of Bath's the pious who bore them about in their numer

declaration : ous processions, a practice which was continued

“Husbands at chirche-door have I had fire.* in this country until the second year of Edward VI.” Caxton, in his Directory for keeping the At that time stone porches were usual, which, festivals, also shows that the yew was substitut- with the room over them, termed the Pareis, ed for the palm in England :-“ But for that we became a sort of little chapel, having a piscina. have non olyve that beareth grained leal, there- Fire-places are frequently found in them. In fore we take yew instead of palm olyve.” The these rooms it was not uncommon to keep melancholy shade and evergreen tint of the yew the church chests, within which the various afford a good type of immortality, which may writings and other valuable properties of the have also been another reason for their constant church were kept. Some few of these still appearance in our churchyards, many of which remain; as at Newport Church, Esses, where & contain yews of many centuries growth. very remarkable one exists.


Christian Church, a deep-hearted solemn aspiration that thrilled the very heart, inspiring resignation and hope, and all the meek yet mighty virtues of our exalted faith. Those country churches are wonderful landmarks of history and religion ; the aged and low-bending trees that have stood the storms of centuries, the massive ivy, the gray, stern, steady walls, tell a state's history, as well as one of a higher


gentle-looking girl of ten or eleven years old, using every possible art to tranquillize a child whose wailing voice seemed strangely at variance with the quiet beauty of the scene.

Before we entered the church (whither the little girl, having won the child to tranquillity by her caresses, had gone before us, and as if fearing the renewal of a disturbance, to which she was most likely accustomed, had crouched down just inside the door) we turned for a moment to look at the tomb, consecrated by the poet to the memory of his mother and also marking his own resting-place

“Upon the lap of earth.” We could hear the tone of the minister's voice, and almost fancy we could distinguish the words; but there was no mistaking the “Amen ” of the congregation, so earnest, so solemn, rolling round the building—the fervent “So be it” of a



and holier origin : for ourselves we feel strangely moved when we see the spire of the village church pointing to the heavens, or hear the faintest sound of the distant church bells float above the landscape.

The accompanying sketch of the poet's monument was made before the ground around the testimonial was arranged as a parterre. Here it appears uncultivated, whereas it is exquisitely arranged, and contains numberless flowers, breathing incense to the poet's memory.

The interior of the church is picturesque and well cared for, and after service, which was performed throughout with dignified simplicity, and completed by a sermon sufficiently plain to be comprehended by the unlettered, while its graceful language and unaffected piety carried the listener beyond this world to the happiness rather than the terrors of the next; we were shown the private entrance-porch from Stoke-Park, and the pew appropriated to the use of the family—the old seats, the richly-stained glass, the subdued light, the beautiful domain beyond, the overhanging trees, the full-bosomed melody of the birds, the murmurs of the half-whispered greetings and retreating footsteps of the congregation as they passed out, the manner of our guide, whose attention increased in proportion to the expression of our sympathy with the scene—are all vividly impressed upon our memory.

• The churchyard was full, very full," our guide had said, “and a wonderful quantity of persons visited it and read the epitaphs, and even scratched their names on the church walls, though it was forbidden, and took away bits of the yew and wild flowers. It was," he thought, “a pleasant churchyard to be buried in. Not too full, but not lonely;" and indeed he said truly, for in those country churchyards — once at least each week — the children's children of the silent dead pass beside their graves; the modest headstone and the light waving grass seem more akin to humanity and human feeling than the dungeon-like vaults, or huge

slabs,” pressing so heavily upon what we loved so well in the churches or churchyards of our towns. Again we stood beside the poet's grave, read the epitaph on his mother, and cast many a "longing, lingering look bebind,” while leaving the churchyard immortalized by the most perfect elegy in our language.

And the wilderness, alone,
When noon with burning splendor shone,

Beneath her sky serene

Two mournful forms were seen-
A sad and anxious mother there,
Who wept, in wild and deep despair;

And near her, in the shade,

A pallid boy was laid.
With care her weary feet had sought
Each channel, that she fondly thought

Might hold some trace of rain,

But ever sought in vain.
And bravely had she borne till now;
But death was on that youthful brow-

No water-spring was nigh,

And he-her child—must die.
She turn'd away-she could not brook
On that beloved face to look-

And hid her weeping eye.

"Let me not see him die!" Alas! my own, my cherish'd one, What has thy mournful mother done

That thou shouldst thus be reft,

The only treasure left ?
How many streams and fountains bright
Are flashing in the golden light,

With music sweet and clear!

But none, alas! are near.
O for one draught from some sweet spring,
Upon its bright course murmuring !

O for one silver wave,

Its drooping brow to lare!
O God, to thee I turn, for thou
Alone canst aid and comfort now;

Hear in this lonely wild

A mother for her child !
How can I bear to see him die!
How can I watch his glazing eye!

Yes, I have err'd-but he

O spare him yet to me!"
Then from the far-off azure sky
A silv'ry radiance gleam'd on high,

As through its portals blue

A swift-wing'd angel flew,
And gentle words of kindest cheer
Fell on the weeping mother's ear :

"Look up, for help is nigh!

Look up, he shall not die !"
And lo! a fount of waters bright
Flash'd on the grateful mourner's sight,

Who brought the healing wave

The pallid lips to lave.
For God had watch'd his wandering child
E'en in the desert lone and wild,

And life and joy were there,

Where late had breathed despair. Pilgrim, whose mournful footsteps stray O'er life's forlorn and rugged way;

Though worn with grief and pain,

Think not thy toil is vain.
Still looking from the midnight sky,
Behold a heavenly watcher nigh;

Droop not in doubt and fear,

The water-spring is near.
Though throbs thy heart with anguish strong,
Though grief's sad reign endureth long,

Dark as thy lot may be
Hope's waters flow for thee.

P. J. Ow



beauty, it has also given to the upper gal-
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ed for the display of the world's best combined with a feeling of durability, specimens of art and manufacture, is call- strength, and comfort, which, without ed, after its great prototype in London, lessening in any degree, the general light to which by the way it bears no sort of and brilliancy, adds materially to the effect resemblance, The Crystal Palace. The of the whole. French themselves call it the Palais de The machinery gallery, which lines the l' Industrie. It is a substantial oblong Quai de la Conférence—the ancient Port building, one hundred and ninety-two me aux Pierres—is most remarkable for its ters (French yards) long, and forty-eight great length. It extends, indeed, twelve wide, having lateral galleries twenty-four hundred meters in a straight line under a meters in width ; above which are gal- vault of glass seventeen meters in elevaleries of precisely the same dimensions. tion. Within, two galleries have been Although the sides of the edifice are of constructed, one on the borders of the stone and metal, the roof being of glass, Seine, the other on one side of the Champs there is no want of light anywhere ; the Elysées, each of which is six meters in galleries of the ground-floor, which are width, and by which the whole extent of covered by the flooring of the upper gal- the perspective may be embraced at once. leries, are also lighted by two hundred One of the most difficult and delicate and eight windows, opening on the Champs tasks which had to be performed was the Elysées, in addition to the arches which appropriation of space to the various naopen upon the nave; added to which there tions from which articles were expected are openings in the flooring of the upper for exhibition. Room, of course, was not gallery at certain distances to let down wanted for Russia, and how much the light and air.

United States would need it was not posThe grand entrance to the palace is sur sible to say. In this matter no fault can mounted by a group, representing France be found with the directors of the exhicrowning Industry, Commerce, and Arts. bition. An English journalist from whom To the right and left are other sculptures we quote, admits that France has been surmounting Corinthian pillars, and con more liberal than we were upon a similar sisting of cherubs supporting the escutch- occasion ; with a building little more than eon of the Emperor. Below the central half the size of the Crystal Palace in Hyde group, extending the whole length of the Park, more space has been granted to gate, is a frieze, representing Industry and Great Britain than was given to the French. the Arts offering their productions to the Half of the ground-floor and two-thirds “Universal Exposition. On the right of the galleries are given up to strangers. and left of the arch are figures of Fame, To the south, going from east to west, and beneath the arch is sculptured a grand we meet first with the English, then the subject, also relating to the arts and in- Americans, next the Belgians, then the dustry. The whole design is at once Austrians, and, lastly, the Zollverein. In grand and imposing—a fitting entrance to the galleries to the east we have Persia, an exhibition of human skill and ingenuity China, Turkey, Egypt, Tunis, Greece, and gathered from all parts of the world. the Italian States ; to the west, Denmark,

Not only is the monumental entrance Sweden and Norway, Holland, Switzerimposing, but the general appearance of land, Spain and Portugal. England has the palace is magnificent in the extreme. allotted to her a space equivalent to 8,470 The building, being destined to become a meters ; the Zollverein, 4,499 ; Austria, permanent repository of the trophies of 2,694; Belgium, 2,412 ; the United States, science and art, is far more solid in its 2,286; Switzerland, 1,099. China, Greece, structure than the Crystal Palace of Hyde and Persia united, only cover a space of Park; but the durability of the edifice has 262 meters. Most of these nations have in no way affected the general beauty of spaces both below and above ; but some, design which pervades all parts. While whose contributions are of minor importit has enabled the architect to constructance, have only space allotted to them in -spacious staircases of solid materials and the galleries. But in such circumstances noble landing-places of great architectural | the contributions are always so arranged,

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that a certain amount of frontage is ob- tions, and seemingly interminable vista, tained toward the balustrade, from whence presents an air of solidity and majestic the national colors are to be suspended. grandeur to which the celebrated struc

The building, differing from the London ture of Sir Joseph Paxton made no prePalace in extent, in its fairy-like propor- tensions.

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