of the livelong day. He himself was reared amid the hardest and sternest poverty, and when he went to school, was compelled to subsist by begging his bread from door to door. And when he became an inmate of the Augustine convent, he undertook the humblest and most laborious tasks, took the lowest place among the lowly brotherhood of monks.

6. One day the great emperor and the poor monk met. It was at a grand council, called in part for the trial of the monk, and under the auspices of the emperor. The latter had come from a remote part of his vast dominions, with all the pomp of a triumphal march. He had been greeted on his way by the huzzas of millions of subjects. He sat in the Diet, surrounded by a brilliant assembly of nobles, princes, and kings, who all acknowledged his supremacy. He was at the summit of earthly grandeur.

7. The poor monk was arraigned, tried, and found guilty of heresy and obstinacy, and was pronounced a culprit and an outlaw under the ban of the empire. The emperor retired from the Diet to listen to new acclamations, and to receive new tokens of his great popularity; the poor monk, in disguise, rushed for safety into a dismal dungeon, where kind friends kept him immured, to save him from the rage of his enemies.

8. Suppose the question had been put to some politician -some prince of the empire, or high ecclesiastical dignitary -which of the two men, the convicted heretic, accursed by the Pope and outlawed by the empire, or the mighty Charles V., successor of the Cæsars, was most influential? What would have been the answer? Would not the very asking of such a question have been looked upon as a proof of insanity or idiocy? And yet, what says the world to-day? Measure the lives of the two men. Weigh their deeds, the principles they advocated, and the policy inaugurated by each.

9. Charles lived and reigned, engaged in the intrigues and diplomacy of his time, -schemed against Francis and was schemed against by Francis, deceived the Pope and was deceived by the Pope, and finally died in a self-imposed obscurity, declaring that he was weary of the incessant and unmeaning contests of life. And of his long reign of thirty years, what else can be said than that it was not marked by a single measure of permanent utility in advancing the interests of humanity?

10. But Luther has changed the entire farce of Christendom. Catholic no less than Protestant countries to-day feel the good effects of his fearless devotion to duty. His heroism has gone into the very life of the race. Who can tell how much higher the mass of mankind now stand for Luther's having lived? Who, then, was the man of influence, the prince or the peasant, the emperor or the monk? What painter shall fitly portray the figures at the Diet of Worms?

LXII.-NAPOLEON AT REST.

JOHN PIERPONT.

1. His falchion flashed along the Nile;

His hosts he led through Alpine snows;
O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while,
His eagle flag unrolled, and froze.

2. Here sleeps he now, alone! Not one,
Of all the kings whose crowns he gave,
Bends o'er his dust ;-nor wife nor son
Has ever seen or sought his grave.

3. Behind this sea-girt rock, the star
That led him on from crown to crown,
Has sunk; and nations from afar
Gazed as it faded and went down.

4. High is his couch ; the ocean-flood,
Far, far below, by storms is curled;
So round him heaved, while high he stood,
A stormy and unstable world.

5. Alone he sleeps! The mountain-cloud,

That night hangs round him, and the breath
Of morning scatters, is the shroud

That wraps the conqueror's clay in death.

6. Pause here! The far-off world, at last,

Breathes free; the hand that shook its thrones,
And to the earth its miters cast,
Lies powerless now beneath these stones.

7. Hark! comes there, from the pyramids,
And from Siberian wastes of snow,
And Europe's hills, a voice that bids
The world he awed to mourn him?-No:

8. The only, the perpetual dirge

That's heard there, is the sea-bird's cry,
The mournful murmur of the surge,

The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh.

LXIII.-MY PROPERTY.

HENRY W. BEECHER.

1. I know few men as rich as I am. I scarcely know where I amassed all my treasures. I have but a few things at home, and they are very precious, animate and inanimate. But, dear me, if you suppose that that is all I own, you never were more mistaken in your life!

2. I have every ship that comes into New York Harbor, but without any of the gross trouble which those deluded men have who think they own them. I never concern myself about the crews or officers, about freight or voyage, about expenses or losses. All this would be wearisome. I have certain men who look after these things, while I am left to the pure enjoyment of their beauty, their coming and going, the singing of the anchor-hoisting crew.

3. I go about the wharves, watch the packages going in or coming out of ships. The outlandish inscriptions, the ceroons of indigo piled up, the stacks of tea-chests, the bales and boxes, the wine and spices, all pass under my inspection. I say inwardly to the men : "Let these things be taken care of without troubling me," and I am obeyed. I have also many ship-yards, where they are building all kinds of craft.

Other men pay the money; I take the pleasure, and they the anxious care!

4. The Yacht Club have been very obliging to me. At great expense they have equipped unequaled boats, that suit me to a nicety. I ask nothing better. They are graceful as swans, beautiful as butterflies. If I had them all to care for, my pleasure would cost me rather dear. But, with extreme delicacy, the gentlemen of the Club relieve me of all that gross and material part of it, and leave me the boats, the pleasure, the poetry of the thing; and once or twice in a season I go down the bay, on a breezy morning, and see these fine fellows sail their craft, and I do believe that if they were doing it for their own selves, instead of for my enjoyment, they would not exert themselves more.

5. Then, how much have I to thank the enterprising shop-keepers, who dress out their windows with such beautiful things, changing them every few days lest I should tire. It is a question of duty and delicacy with me whether I ought not to go in often as thus: "Good morning, Mr. Stewart-good morning, Mr. Lord, or Mr. Taylor. I am greatly obliged to you for those fine goods in the window. I have enjoyed them amazingly, as I did the other patterns of last week. Pray, sirs, do not put yourselves to all this trouble on my account. Yet, if your kindness insists upon it, I shall be but too happy to come and look every day at such rare productions of the loom."

6. In the same way I am put under very great obligations to Messrs. Appleton & Co. It is affecting to see such kindness as they have shown, in going to great expense to procure fine stereoscopic views for the entertainment of their friends. It must be a great expense to them. But there they are displayed, free as grass in meadow or dandelions by the roadside, and any one can look for nothing, and without any other risk than that of purchasing!

7. On the same side of Broadway is a firm so benevolent that some Dickens ought to embalm them as a "Cheeryble Brothers," of course I mean Messrs. Williams and Stevens, who pay out great sums every year, in order to fill their windows with pleasant sights for passers-by. Some surly old rich men there are in New York who hoard and hide their pictorial treasures. Not so these benevolent gentlemen. They let their light shine; and, with rare delicacy, lest the eye should tire of repetition, they change their pictures every week.

8. Then here is Mr. Seitz, who has ransacked all Europe for brilliant impressions of the rarest classical engravings, and has brought together a collection which can not probably be equaled or approached by any similar concern in the world. Only to think of such pains-taking kindness! And then if one loves books, how many are there besides Messrs. Appleton or Mr. Scribner who will rejoice in seeing you before their shelves, warming in kindred feeling to these children dressed in calf. I am sometimes overwhelmed with the sense of my riches in crockery and china, in sewing-machines, in jewelry, in furniture, in fine wall-paper, in new inventions.

9. And then how many men build handsome houses for me to look at, and fill their yards with flowers for me to nod to, and place the most beautiful faces of the family in the window to cheer me as I pass! Surely this is a kind-hearted world! And then how many fine country-seats are built, and grounds laid out, for my enjoyment. The fee-simple may be in some other man, but I own them. For he owns a thing who understands it best, and gets the most enjoyment from it!

10. This world was made for poor men, and therefore the greatest part of it was left out of doors, where every body could enjoy it. And though men have been building and fencing for six thousand years, they have succeeded in getting very little of the universal treasure sequestered and out of sight. Suppose you can not plow that fertile field, or own the crops, or reap the harvests, is there no pleasure to you in a fine field, a growing crop, a good harvest? In fact, I sometimes fancy that I enjoy plowing and mowing more when other people are engaged in them than if I were working myself. Sweat away, my hearties, I say; I am in the shade of this tree watching you, and enjoying the scene amazingly.

11. I love to go into the pasture and look over those sleek Devonshires. The owner is very kind. He has paid thousands of dollars for them; he has spent I know not how