mouth. By his agony in the garden-by his death upon the cross, I conjure you never to deny his holy name." The lady ceased. Her eyes were closed-her life was ebbing fast; yet her lips moved, and as her daughter bent down her ear to catch their faintest whisper, they breathed, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from her; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.” As the last words died away there was a slight struggle-a faint sigh, and the freed spirit had entered that land where prayer is lost in praise. There sprang a stem whose vigorous boughs soon overspread the land; To distant isles its shadows fell, nor knew its roots decay, Even when the Roman Cæsar's throne and empire passed away." Months had fled. The remains of the lady Cornelia had been privately interred in the vault of her ancestors, in accordance with the rites prescribed by the Christian Church. Her daughter was left sole heiress of her wealth. What a dangerous position was hers-so young, so beautiful, and a convert to the proscribed faith; left alone and unprotected in that great and wicked city! As yet she had been permitted to enjoy her religion unmolested. It might be that her innocence and helplessness had melted the stern hearts of the rulers, or that they hesitated in subjecting to the fate of the mere plebeian of fender the only remaining descendant of a long line of ancestors-the sole representative of a name which had, for centuries, been mighty in Rome. The persecution raged with increasing fury. Gorged with ignoble blood, it sought its prey in the high places of the land; and while the plebeian often escaped the patrician was the chief sufferer. The cry was, "Shall the poor, the unknown be punished, while those whose influence will so much more undermine our faith are left unmolested?" The young lady-Octavia-was going on in the even tenor of her way. Like her noble mother, daily she was wont to assemble her whole household, when, after reading to them from the Scriptures, she kneeled and commended them to the care of the true God. For weeks after her mother's death she had lived in daily expectation of the dungeon and the torture; but weeks passed on, and she became gradually lulled into a feeling of security. She scarce knew why popular vengeance had not sought her out; but still it had not, though day by day she heard that the waves of its fury were surging almost up to her palace gates. But in an hour she thought not of the minions of government entered her dwelling and bore her, with her whole household, before the robed judges of the land. Heavy was the weight of crime which, in their eyes, rested upon that young head. For not only her own heresies must she ents. "It is vain," said he who sat at the head be answerable, but for those of all her dependof the council, "it is vain to be lopping off the branches, while the tree from which they gather strength remains unharmed. The nation is already sated with ignoble blood: let us ascend to the high places of the land and check this vile current at its fountain-head. Maiden, you stand here accused of blasphemy against the acknowledged gods of Rome! You have not only yourself professed faith in this Christ, but have disseminated the same through your household. Had you a hundred lives you could not, with them all, atone to the state; yet, in consideration of your youth, the glory of your ancestors, and the deeds of your father, which our emperor still holds in grateful remembrance, he offers you your life upon certain conditions-though justice will require that as an atonement for past offenses you forfeit a large portion of your estate. Will you accept the conditions?" "I would first know what they are." "That in presence of the vast multitude which to-morrow will assemble at the amphitheater, you renounce this religion, and in token of your return to our ancient faith, kiss the statue of our god Jupiter. Is not this a merciful atonement for your manifold sins?" "And my dependents, what is to be their fate?" "Their guilt is less than yours. We care little for their vile blood. We might throw them to the lions without parley; yet we are disposed to be merciful, and we offer them pardon on the same conditions as to you. Do you accept those conditions?" "God being my helper I never will," replied the lady in a low yet an unfaltering voice. "Shall we bear this, your final decision, to our emperor? Think again, maiden, of the dungeon and the torture, which may force you to compli ance." "I have thought of all these. For months I have dreamed of this fate; and may God give me strength, through all the suffering you may inflict Rome's noblest youths had bent at her shrine, upon me, never to deny his holy name!" "Lady, remember, whatever may be your fate it has been your own free choice. We shall now commit you to prison, and though your sufferings there may be the lightest part of your punishment, you can have no reason to arraign our justice: we have offered you pardon; you have refused it. You can expect no mercy." And the young Octavia, she who from infancy | had been so tenderly reared; upon whose fair head not even the winds of heaven had been permitted to blow too roughly; whose home had been a palace; whose light step had fallen upon carpets from the Persian loom so soft as to waken no echo; she who had fared sumptuously every day, and had menials ever ready to do her slightest bidding, was now led alone and in chains to a dungeon, far removed from the blessed light of heaven, her only bed the damp stone floor, her only companions the noxious reptiles which had their abode in its moldering walls. Through a slight crevice in the wall a ray of light was admitted, and she drew from beneath the folds of her rich mantle the precious volume, now her only earthly comforter. As she read of Jeremiah in his loathsome dungeon; of Daniel in the den of lions; of the three worthies, who, in the midst of the fiery f_rnace, were yet unscathed, while there appeared in their midst the blessed Son of God; as she thought, too, of Paul and Silas, who, in the deep midnight of their prison, sang praises unto Him whose unseen hand was even then working their deliverance, her heart was comforted-her spirit was strengthened; and though she little dreamed of an earthly deliverance, she felt that she was in the hands of a Being all-powerful as well as all-merciful, and in childlike confidence she could say, "Father, thy will be done!" Weeks passed, and yet the lady Octavia remained in prison, though she lived in daily expectation of death. Much did she fear lest her summons might come at an hour when her spirit was unnerved, for so it often was. Though at times her feelings were wrought up to such an enthusiasm that she could glory in sufferingthat she could almost rejoice in martyrdom itself; yet at others a mortal weakness would come over her-the love of life would return with redoubled strength, and in bitterness of soul she would cry, "O Father, avert from me this cup; I can not drink it!" And well might she cling to life-young, beautiful, rich, and titled, wherever she went she had received the involuntary homage of the multitude. and to win a smile from her had been the highest ambition of many a young patrician's heart. From among them all she had chosen one, a distant kinsman of her mother's. From childhood they had been associates, and their love had grown with their growth, and strengthened with their strength. And Lucius Fabricius, the son of one of Rome's most powerful senators, graceful in person, noble in mind and bearing, learned in all the wisdom of the schools, versed in all the accomplishments of refined life, was one whose regard the proudest lady in the land might have considered an honor. He was now absent at the east, whither he had gone to complete his education in the schools of Grecian and Egyptian philosophy. In Athens he had tarried long at the school of Epicuris, and throwing to the winds the absurd pagan creed in which he had been reared, he adopted the belief that there is no God-there is no hereafter; that pleasure is man's chief good. His voice had joined in that bacchanalian song, "Follow, follow pleasure while ye may;" and this life, the only one to which he thought mortals might aspire, he had given up to enjoy. ment. Yet he did not descend to drunkenness and debauchery. There was that in his fine nature which recoiled at every thing base and sensual; how, then, could his enlightened mind subscribe to so gross a superstition as was the heathen creed; whose deities, while they were invested with all the vices, had few of the redeeming traits of mere human natures? We can not wonder that the best minds of Athens and Rome, unenlightened by revelation, turned in disgust from a system so absurd as was the pagan mythology, adopting the ideas of their wisest philosophers, some of whom asserted that there was no God, others that nature itself was God. And yet it was a mournful thought to those great minds, formed with desires which were not of "the earth earthy;" with aspirations after a higher state of being; that death is the utmost goal of life; that mind and matter must alike perish in the grave. We find such thoughts fearfully portrayed in the writings of many of the sages of the olden time; and Catullus, one of the sweetest of the Roman poets, laments that though spring succeeds the gloom of winterthough the flowers fade but to bloom anewthough throughout all nature death but brings forth a newer, a more perfect life; yet man, the noblest work of his Creator, alone must perish. That this belief prevailed among the most enlightened of the ancients we can not doubt; and we can but think that those who were most zealous for the national religion, were so from motives of policy. He who would gain favor with the masses must work upon their superstitions; and invocations to the gods and solemn appeals to Heaven doubtless lent an irresistible charm to poetry and oratory. "Would that my Lucius were here," said the lady Octavia often to herself; "he has favor with our emperor; his intercession for my life might be availing; but if this could not be, he might be brought, by seeing his Octavia die for her religion, to believe in its divine reality. But though he is far away, and I can never see him again in this world, my last prayer shall be for him; and may not my death be the means of bringing him to a knowledge of that eternal life upon which I am so soon to enter?" For weeks a dungeon had been the abode of the noble Octavia, when one morning the iron door of her cell grated upon its rusty hinges, and her jailer, bearing a lighted taper and followed by two officers, entered her presence. "Follow us," said the stern voice of their leader. The young girl arose, but so faint was she from long coninement and fasting-for she had turned in loathing from the black bread and impure water which had been offered her—that she could with difficulty stand. "If you faint now, lady, what will you do tomorrow? You will have need of all your strength then; so try and summon up a little of it now. Rouse up, I say," continued that same gruff voice, and placing his arm roughly around her slight waist, the officer half bore, half dragged her forward. In a few moments she stood before the council. "And has the lady yet concluded to renounce her impious creed?" was the first salutation. A firm "No" came from her lips. "Let her reflect well before she decides. She can have an hour for consideration," said the chief of the council, waving his hand for her to leave his presence. "O Octavia, say, only say that Jupiter is the great God," entreated the young Lavinia, the playmate of her childhood, who had ever been to her as a sister. "To the torture, then! Ho, officers!" They bore her to the torture; but so exhausted had she become from recent suffering, that the trial had scarce commenced ere she fainted. "Hold!" said the chief of the officers, "she will die if this continues, and our populace will, to-morrow, lose the sight of a noble lady's martyrdom. Conduct her back to prison, but not to the loathsome dungeon where she has been confined. Place her in your most comfortable quarters; give her reviving draughts and nourishing food. We have need of all her strength for the morrow." The morrow came. Rome's most spacious amphitheater was crowded to its utmost, and on a lofty throne, high above all, sat the emperor in his regal robes, while around were ranged the members of the royal household and the chief officers of the realm. In seats raised above those of the populace were assembled the rank, the beauty, and the valor of the imperial city. And what gala day was this which had so drawn out from princely hall and thatched cottage, from the forum and the temple, the marts of commerce and the shop of the artisan, so many thousands of Rome's sons and daughters? It was to behold their fellow-creatures thrown to wild beasts; to see those whose only crime was a blameless faith in Jesus torn limb from limb; to see the jaws of the savage monsters of the forest moistened in innocent Christian blood. On this day an unwonted interest pervaded all. There were many plebeian victims; but little recked the multitude of the poor beings who, to serve their God, had taken refuge in the caves of the earth, whom the ruthless dogs of war had scented out in their retreats in the almost inacces "Think of the torture, poor child," said the sible fastnesses of the mountains, where their noble senator, the father of her betrothed. songs of praise were going up in solitude to Heaven. "Think of Lucius, how well he loves you, and do not for a mere infatuation throw away a life which promises so much happiness," said the lady Lucretia, his mother. "In a few days he will be here to make you his bride; why so madly rush on to your own destruction?” No! One of Rome's patrician dames, reared in their midst, whose wealth had excited the cupidity of her sons; whose beauty, the envy of her daughters, was this day to seal her faith with her blood. Victim after victim had been thrown to the wild beasts, and at each fresh sacrifice a shout of hellish triumph had gone up from the assembled multitude. The voices of Rome's chivalrous sons swelled that note of exultation, and the bright eyes of her fairest daughters gazed unshrinkingly upon the impious sight, while jeweled hands waved broidered kerchiefs high in air, as many a poor victim, in the throes of expiring agony, struggled with the beasts of the arena, not more cruel than the human beings who, from the lofty seats of the amphitheater, gazed down upon them. An old man there was-a patriarch of his flock. Long years before, while yet a lad, he had journeyed to the east, and, joining that multitude who were wont to follow the footsteps of the Savior, had listened to the divine teachings which fell from his lips. "The prison damps had paled his cheek, and on his lofty brow Corroding care had deeply traced the furrows of its plow. Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and raised to Heaven his eye; For well that feeble old man knew they brought him forth to die; But joy was beaming from that face, and from those lips a prayer Passed up to Heaven, and faith secured its peaceful dwelling there." His two grandchildren, a fair young girl and a manly youth, kneeled at his feet, and with tearful eyes looked upward into that aged face, as if imploring strength for the coming struggle; for they, too, though young, and fair, and innocent, were to die with him. The old man, placing upon each sunny head a withered hand, raised his sunken eyes upward, his lips moved for a moment in prayer, and it seemed as if the Spirit of Him he addressed had descended upon that little circle. Their tears TO A COMET. BY ALEX. CLARK. ART thou a prophet, come to tell Hast thou a voice, and dost thou sound Ne'er told to mortal ears? By all-creative Might, To gather from our brilliant orb In glorious splendor, far Thy orbit winds its way; Thou canst not here delay. Farther and farther, like a stream That flows to ocean's breast, And wilt thou onward ever run- While stars, and moon, and earth, and sun Sweet lessons to the soul; were dried, and with unfaltering step and placid "THERE SHALL COME A STAR OUT OF JACOB." brows they advanced to meet their doom. There were others. But why dwell upon scenes which so harrow up the soul-which so make us lose faith in human nature, and shudder at the depths of depravity to which fallen man may sink? And yet they present humanity in its most holy as well as its most evil aspect, showing, on the one hand, that our souls may even, in this life, become so purified as to be meet companions for angels, and, on the other, how they may, by yielding to their worst instincts, become assimilated to demons. BETTER that a house be too small for a night, than too large for a year. BY SERENNA BALDWIN. THROUGH coming time, through distant years, And beautiful afar, I see from out of Jacob rise A bright, a glorious star. And hosts of angels, down the sky, Its rays shall pierce the darkness through, Yea, all shall look and bend the knee Tothing particularly tar of the circumstances by wings and enjoy a 51 Where can I get mo sole to stay on my boo Aur fellow! ad better not let him ir be's as proud as Luc to know that any one A fiend who knew his make him a presen trying to devise a ld not wound his se 4h would relieve him foolish to be so sensit I mhappy for himsel g a present, or even a to receive presents; b aching but what he earn de intervals of study. "ONLY A THEOLOG." four months of each year, and spends every Saturday in keeping the books of a publishing house in this city; and from the pittances thus gained HAT a handsome beau Mary Price has to- he contrives to eke out a support and pursue his BY HARRIET N. BABB. "Wight, who is he?" asked a young lady studies." of the gentleman who was trying to play the agreeable to her. "Perhaps you won't admire him so much when I tell you that he's only a poor Theolog," was the answer. "What! is he one of the animals from the seminary!" exclaimed the young girl with a laugh. "Why, he doesn't look like it." "You thought they were all wild savages up there, did you? and yet you find one tame enough to run at large, and even to be tolerated in society." "There's nothing particularly tame in the glance of that eye, either; it bespeaks talent that will not be kept in check; not even the restraints of our artificial society shall prevent its breaking out and letting its power be known." "Why, you are growing quite eloquent over that Theolog. I shall begin to think you are smitten with him; but if he is not tamed it is not the fault of the circumstances by which he has been surrounded; for Poverty has laid her crushing hand upon him, and when his genius would spread its wings and enjoy a lofty flight, the question, 'Where can I get money to pay my washwoman?' or, 'What shall I do to induce that departing sole to stay on my boot a little longer?" brings him down to earth. I am told that he sometimes goes supperless to bed, not that he may have pleasant dreams, but because he has not the wherewithal to buy bread." "Poor fellow!" "You had better not let him hear you pitying him, for he's as proud as Lucifer, and it would gall him to know that any one suspected his poverty. A friend who knew his circumstances and wished to make him a present, puzzled his wits for weeks trying to devise a mode of tendering it that should not wound his sensitive heart more than the gift would relieve him." "How foolish to be so sensitive!" "Most unhappy for himself, but it is a conformation peculiar to many sons and daughters of genius; they think themselves humiliated in accepting a present, or even a loan, and never feel like holding up their heads till it is repaid." "Then I am not a genius, for I love of all things to receive presents; but has this gentleman nothing to live upon?" "Nothing but what he earns by drudgery during the intervals of study. He teaches school "Well, I should think he would be tame enough; why don't he give up study and go into a store, or something like that? He might make a comfortable support, then, and live like other people; but now he is pinching and starving himself-for what? to get through the seminary, that he may starve as a poor preacher in some obscure place, where the prospect of death, or long illness, will haunt him like the nightmare." "I don't see why young men should wish to study for the ministry," rejoined her companion, "they are so much more poorly paid for their labors than they would be in any other pro fession." "Excuse me,” said an elderly gentleman, coming up at that moment, "if I answer a remark which was not addressed to me. Ministers are not more inadequately rewarded than other professional men, only they are not paid in the same way that they are. Their Employer sees that instead of tendering them cash down for every piece of labor they perform for him, it will be better for them eventually to place the sums where the heavy interest they draw will cause them to double and treble themselves, so that the laborers soon become heirs to a princely home and fortune, which they are to enjoy so soon as their work is done; and that not for a few brokendown years at the close of life, as our merchants and lawyers not unfrequently do, but throughout all eternity." "There is Mary Price again with that young Theolog, Mr. Turner; what can her mother be thinking of, to let them be together so much?" said the same young lady at a party a few weeks after. | "And what a girl she is to waste her time with him, when she might, with her pretty face, be making a conquest of some wealthy young lawyer, or something of that kind!" said a gentleman sportively. "You had better give her a few lessons in worldly wisdom, Miss C." "I! do you mean to insinuate that I am ever on the alert to make conquests, and that I never wasted my fascinating conversational powers on any who could not prove eligible matches? Excuse me, then, if I don't talk to you any longer, for I don't believe your income would meet all my wants; and as for driving only one horse when Mrs. J. and Miss F. sport two; bah! it would be too humiliating," and the young girl |