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by his struggle, he grew hopeless, and fell evenly away from the broad forehead began to think of confessing his troubles of the statue. The beard was thick and to Father Beppi.

heavy. The features were fine and reguOne evening, after a day of great men- lar; the eyes large and wide-open. There tal struggle, Brother Filippo came into was, too, an imperial touch in the position the monastery yard with a herd of cattle. of the head upon the strong, sinewy neck. Worn out and weary, he was hurrying to The charm of the bust, however, was the give his herd their evening meal, that as subtle blending in the face of different soon as possible he might go to his cell feelings. The expression was grand, mafor prayer. To get the needed hay he jestic, and at the same time sweet, tender, was forced to go up into the loft of the good. Brother Filippo knew the moment stable. The place was dark except for a he saw clearly the cleansed head that he little light which came in from a window was gazing on the face of Jupiter ; that facing east. As Brother Filippo pitched before him lay a fragment of what must the hay carelessly to the lowing herd have been a masterpiece of ancient art. below, his eye caught the glint of a beam Long the monk looked at the head, of light upon something which he had lost in a delightful revery. A strange conuncovered. With a weary movement he tent was in his soul; at the first sight of pushed aside the hay which rested upon the beautiful face all his troubling doubts it: a large piece of marble, discolored and fears had fled away. Dreaming still, and stained was revealed. The monk, he roamed about the loft, looking for filled with wonder, dragged it to the traces of another piece of the statue, but window. The faint light showed him the he found none. Blissfully happy, unmindmassive head of a statue. It was cov- ful of the growing darkness, he sat down ered with earth and stained by the exu- again before the head. He did not seem dations of the but its great beauty. to think; a joy far too great for words was plain to the practised eye of the held him spellbound. Blacker and blacker monk. His heart gave a strange bound grew the shadows in the loft, until the of joy and happiness. Here indeed was head became invisible, but still Brother a prize! Where could it have come Filippo sat unheeding the change around from? What head was it? All the artis- him. Suddenly the vesper bell began to tic training of the past exerted its power. toll. With a long sigh of content too Brother Filippo forgot everything, — his deep for utterance, Brother Filippo came cattle, his supper, the vesper service. back to himself

. Hastily he pushed the Seizing a wisp of hay, he began with head into its corner, covering it with feverish haste to brush the dirt from the hay. Throwing some more fodder to his head. He was not very successful in his herd, he gave a last look towards the efforts, but enough so to show him the head, and then passed lightly down to value of his prize. The thick wavy locks the floor below.

(To be concluded.]


By Celia Parker Woolley.


A DOUBLE heritage we owe to thee,
The prize of beauty and the gift of thought.
What spell of sweet enchantment must have wrought
Thy beauteous framework of rock, wood, and sea,
With stately rivers flowing peacefully
Past old ancestral farms, where men once fought
The heroic battle of the Right, and bought

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Oh, be thou then forever grandly true
To that high trust the ages hold in thee;
Be leader still, New England, strong and free,
As is brave honor's meed and greatness' due.
Respect the old, but kindly greet the new;
Keep fresh and undimned vision still to see
The present need and opportunity,
And let not waiting wrong and weakness sue
To thee in vain. Then shall thy happy hills
In greener verdure grow, thy rocks uprise
In lasting strength, thy streams and rippling rills
Chant tuneful praises under smiling skies
Of a fair land that owns the signal word
That warns and speaks the coming of the Lord.


By Frances Albert Doughty.


I LOOKED through rainbows in the dew at morn,

And heard enchanted whispers in the air ;
With eager heart I said to those I loved, –

How could I leave you and this world so fair?


Now 'tis high noon, Illusion lost in glare,

And loved ones many lie beneath the sod;
An awful fear creeps in, — that I might stay

Till all have left me, — spare me this, my God!


Nay; for Humanity encircles thee,

O longing soul! thou canst not be alone ;
If all should leave thee who were dear on earth,

Reach out thine arms and find there still — thine own. RECENT CHURCH ARCHITECTURE



cause they are pierced with openings. The silhouette is not merely of the outer outline. The arches of the belfry space let through

the same yellow light ; and so sharp is the contrast between the dark stones and the luminous atmosphere behind, that every feature of the design which can enter into the profile is marked out with great distinctness. Farthest toward the Charles River rises the spire of the First Church. A little distance toward the south comes the mediæval, square-topped tower of the First Baptist, with its low-pitched, pyramidal roof; and then still to the southward the graceful pinnacled shaft of the Central Church, and the Italian campanile of the New Old South. A mile away, Trinity retreats a little behind the Arlington Street steeple, but detaches itself as one moves. Greatest of all, in some respects, it still does not contribute so much to this evening glimpse westward as the higher and more open towers and spires.

All of these churches, and others which are almost or quite as recent, stand for a great advance artistically in many ways over the church-building of the last century in Boston. Even the Arlington Street Church, which is so wholly an echo of the past that I do not regard it as belonging to the present topic, represents the artistic style of this past, worked out with an elaborateness and with a careful minuteness of detail which signifies a great advance, not simply in the wealth, but in the artistic perception of the community which produced it. The transition between the two periods, — between the days when an artistic form came to be first considered as in

some degree an essential in a church building, and this later dawning of a period in which artistic forms have been produced fit to be drawn into comparison with the buildings in the Old World, which they undertake to imitate, — has in one sense been gradual, and in another abrupt. The transitional forms are all interesting, simply as transitional forms. Some of them are interesting in themselves. For example, the Bulfinch period, which came at the be

with his designs for other purposes. It needs to be so studied because his “church" style was not anything which he developed apart from his secular style, but, in the majority of Boston instances, simply an application to church fronts of the same principles of design which he applied to all buildings. Other intermediate forms between the old and the new are wholly comprehensible in themselves, so far as they are comprehensible at all. They seem to fall into two groups, the forms which were preparing the way for the intelligent Gothic of these later days, it is at least permissible to call it intelligent in comparison with what came before, — and the nondescript forms which were not at all Gothic as we now understand it, and to which we are not inclined at the present day, with our wider knowledge of the past, to assign the merit of having really belonged to any genuine historical style.

It was Bulfinch himself who created the first or one of the first examples of Gothic in Boston, in building the spire of his Federal Street Church of 1809, diverging in so doing from his uniform

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The Union Congregational Church.

ginning of the century, possesses an interest practice in designing. But it is difficult of its own. But the Bulfinch manner of to see any traces of the influence of this church-building, in order to be under- particular model on some of the Gothic stood, needs to be studied in connection buildings, or buildings purporting to be est of these four. The church on Bowdoin Street was originally Dr. Lyman Beecher's. A new Congregational society had gathered in 1825, making itself first at home in a church on Hanover Street, which was soon burned. Upon the question of a new house being taken up for discussion, a migration to Bowdoin Street was decided upon, and the Gothic church with its rough stone front, pointed windows, and battlements was finished and dedicated in 1830, during Dr. Beecher's pastorate. The society called itself after the change the “Bowdoin Street Congregational Church,' and continued to exist until 1861, though Dr. Beecher left it in 1832 to go to Lane Theological Seminary in Cincinnati. Since

the extinction of the CongreDoorway, New Old South Church.

gational society the building

has been occupied by the Gothic, which followed. Such examples Church of the Advent, and latterly by the as now exist of one phase of the Gothic Mission Church of St. John the Evangemovement are ponderous fronts of unham- list. The church on Temple Street, built mered stone, without spires. So much in 1835, is now occupied by the First more closely do they resemble some of the Methodist Society, and the church referred London churches built under the influence to on Bowdoin Square is the Bowdoin of the Gothic revival there, before the English public had opened its eyes to its own incomparable mediæval examples, as to suggest a direct influence from that quarter. There are three of these heavy fronts which the curiously inclined may go and look up any day: one in Bowdoin Street, one in Temple Street and one in Bow doin Square. Another, that of Old Trinity, is made familiar by photographs, and is also well remem bered, so recently did it disappear. Trinity was built in 1829, and so was the old

A Corner of Trinity Cloisters.

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