Or rustling that the reapers make
When binding up the brittle sheaves-
Did cadenced into music run,

Touched by her sense of beauty fine,
As beads of dew beneath the sun
Take colour, and like rubies shine.

Whate'er in types of pure delight
And loveliness may God reveal
Imaged by every sense, save sight—
Which only sinless natures feel-
To her especial gladness brought;
The wild flowers and the birds of May
Such light within her darkness wrought,
As children see, in heaven who play.

Her very blindness mercy sent,
To hide from hers those sadder eyes
In silent tears above her bent—
Blind as her own to earth and skies-
And fingers by the needle worn
In toil for her, that never ceased
From ere she woke at early morn
Till stars forsook the kindling east.

For weary was the mother's life;
A losing war with pain and care
Without, and worse within a strife,
Of dread with dread, and wish with prayer.
How could she live ?-her darling gone ;
How bear life's load, her grave beyond?
How leave her there, to die alone,
Or only watched by eyes less fond?

And now, with faltering lips she tried,
And heart that faltered more, to pray,
That God would let her wait beside
Her child, till called by Him away :
And now if sharp pains wrung her breast,
Or faintness bowed her feeble frame,

A dreary thrill but half represt

Of pleasure o'er her spirit came.

"'Tis woe to die; 'tis woe to live;
I cannot tell which woe the worst-
May God my selfish heart forgive---
I could not grieve if ta'en the first.
I cannot help but wish one way,
And hate myself for wishing this;

And daily speak a prayer to stay--
I hope denied-till she's in bliss.
Short time have I on earth, I know;
Few tears above her grave to shed,
Ere death beside her lay me low-
But ah! to look upon her dead!"

In clear calm skies the summer waned,
O'er lifeless woods without a sound:
Undried all day the dews remained:
And dead leaves flecked the miry ground:
Yet duly as for months before,
Where leans a beach against a pine,
Around whose branches spiked and hoar
Its own lithe sprays of foliage twine,
Below the path, beside the brook,
The mother wept and watched her child,
Whose face already wore the look
Of those whom death takes undefiled.

The woodland-slopes with eve were grey;
One crag alone more bare and high,
Where lingered sunset's latest ray,
Glowed dimly red against the sky.
Her lips against her child's close prest,
The mother lay athwart the car,
Nor seemed to heed the paling west,
And night unfolding star by star.

Long time had ceased to browse the goat,
And patient stood, but half awake;
The cricket's chirp, day's closing note,
Was hushed within the silent brake.
All mute, except one wakeful bird
That in the pine's dark foliage sang,
And never sweeter voice was heard
Than his that up the valley rang.

He sang as though he longed to tell,
Yet only could in song make known,
Some happiness that just befell--
Some act of sovereign mercy shown.
And slept mother-slept the child:
The weary mother rested now;

So void of care her white lips smiled-
The peace of God upon her brow.

If they had heard that vesper-lay

Where they were now, from their high place,

Or holier strains, I can not say:

But listening seemed each happy face.

Japanese Sketches.

I.

It may seem a trite saying, but we wish to say it once more, that few objects so quickly touch the heart or enlist the sympathies of all conditions of men as a ruin, especially if that ruin indicates some state of society which has passed away never to return. Mr. Disraeli has observed, in one of his fantastic but suggestive fictions, that the age of ruins is past; but although it is true that the hurry and shifting excitement of the present moment is deadening the desire to study the past, the peculiar interest of ruins must always abide. To common observers there may be merely the consciousness of beauty, or some startling sense of contrast of effect, but in reality there exists for them, as well as for the "seeing eye," an underlying knowledge that some framework, once instinct with life and purpose, is a mouldering skeleton—that not only the hand, and mind, and divine energy of the framers have perished from sight, but moreover, that all upon which they spent their strength, for which they toiled and wrought, in which they believed and hoped, which they loved with whatever manly strength was in them-that all their work, in short, has perished with them.

Their swords are rust,
Their bodies dust,-

It is for this that, sitting in the shadow of the Pyramids, or beholding the giant beauty of Tadmor rise from the sand, or gazing at the temple of Neptune among the myrtles of Pæstum, we are struck with a double pathos. These and their makers have alike passed away. Their wonderful story and surpassing beauty bear no fruit, in any henceforth nor for ever.

But there are other ruins about which a holier sadness hangs, because our faith either engenders some hope of resurrection from death and fresh life in this world, or fixes our eyes upon "a new Heaven and a new earth" of fruition hereafter; and though we ponder their annals with sorrow, it is a sadnesslike that accompanying all holy warfare-mingled with triumph and rejoicing. Our minds are divided, though not from the

same cause, like those of the rebuilders of the Temple, who partly wept and sighed, and partly shouted for joy.

It is in this last-mentioned mood that we should study the records glanced at in our present sketch-records offering such abundant interest that it is difficult to choose from the multitude of details of the once flourishing and devoted Church in Japan, where, in about fifty years from the first preaching of the Gospel, the Christians numbered above a million of souls. Among these were reckoned eminent nobles, high-born ladies, officers of the Court, Princes and governors of territories, bonzes of the chief temples, whose position and very being depended upon the extinction of Christianity, and thousands of rich and prosperous citizens, whose trade also, to a great extent, throve upon the customs and practices of the national worship. Those acquainted with the wonderful life of St. Francis Xavier will not have forgotten the memorable coincidence of the discovery of Japan about the time of his leaving Europe for the East, or the facts that, while the famous explorer, Mendez Pinto, in the year 1542, had penetrated the Japan Islands from one side, and three other Portuguese navigators, Pexota, Zeimoto, and Mota, discovered them by another course, Don Martin de Sosa, the Portuguese Governor-General of India, was landing at Goa with "Father Master Xavier," thereafter to become the Apostle of India and Japan. Six years afterwards a Japanese gentleman went to India to see and converse with Father Francis, was converted and baptised by him under the name of Paul de la Ste. Foi, sent to the University of Goa, and in the years to come largely assisted his great master in spreading religion through Japan.* Want of space, to say nothing of other reasons, forbids us to enlarge upon the career of the Saint who exercised so marvellous an influence in the East, and whose ardent generosity, noble character, and matchless gifts of winning, were fully appreciated by the keen-sighted and courteous Japanese. From the time of St. Francis Xavier's first visit to Cangochima the Jesuits freely entered Japan, and were established by Papal Brief as the chief Missionaries for that country. Their eminent success is said to have been based upon their invariably laying down a solid educational foundation, and securing the careful training of the scholars who flocked to them. To each mission was attached a

* It was Paul who, when questioned by St. Francis Xavier why the Japanese character was invariably upright, replied that it was because writing is intended to represent the ideas of men, who, of all created beings, were made upright by God.

public school, in which Christian doctrine, literature, and ecclesiastical and secular music were taught, and wherever unusual capacity was evinced, the Missionaries gathered those boys together in their own houses, and there instructed them how to make mental prayer, to practise distinctly the different virtues, to avoid and overcome sin, and excite the spirit of penance. Every Friday the boys went in procession to the churches, singing psalms and motetts, and publicly using corporal austerities, which were allowed in this manner by the Missionaries partly as a counterbalance to the severe life and asceticism taught by the bonzes. In this way, the fervour generally induced by corporal austerities, and the generous, uncalculating devotedness flowing from the continual thought of Christ's Passion, sprang up in full vigour from the very beginning throughout the missions, and ripened to their legitimate harvest, while to die for Christ became the habitual aspiration of the child-neophytes of Japan.

In 1570, the Missionary called the second founder of the Japanese Church died. This was Father Torrez, who had baptised over 30,000 persons with his own hands, and who at seventy years of age was still travelling, teaching, and founding missions and churches. While yet working he was seized with his last agony, made his general confession and received the Viaticum in the church were he was, bade farewell to all his sorrowing people, and was carried home to die. Considering what his life was, it is not wonderful that when laid upon the open bier in the usual manner in the church, crowds flocked from all parts to gaze upon the extraordinary beauty of his face, and to reverence him as one already at rest.

From that time until the year 1598, it is not possible to follow the tangled web of Japanese wars and plots, which also influenced the progress of religion, but it must be now premised that during that year the Emperor, or rather the supreme Emperor, Taïcosama ---for the dual form of imperial government existed then as nowdied, leaving his son Findeyori, a child of six years old, under the Regency of his father-in-law, Ieyas Maldaira, "assisted" by four Regent-colleagues and five sub-governors or satraps. Their first act was to recal the Corean expedition, which had carried on war with China for seven years, and as this had involved the expenditure of much blood and treasure without achieving fame or acquiring new territory, the measure was unpopular, and split Japan at once into violent factions for and against the Regent, Ieyas. After much assembling of troops, and battles uncountable, of various fortunes, between him and his co-Regents, Ieyas