JACINTA: I am bound, Arturo, bound by a miserable fate to stay here. I have claims on me

ARTHUR: Claims! You have claims on you! I never heard any thing about this; you have been deceiving me then, you and that old woman are not alone in the world, you

JACINTA I never told you we were. O Arturo do not look so cruelly at me; sit down, and let me breathe, let me speak to you. You will see yourself that it would be wicked and ungrateful of me to go away with you because I love you, and leave and leave my my duties behind me.

ARTHUR, (rapidly and violently :) I was to come at certain times, and go at certain times; I suppose if I had staid after sunset, some body else would have found an intruder here. I have had cause for suspicion all the time, but I have been a blind, infatuated fool. Once out of the two occasions in which I have been in this cut-throat street at an unusual hour, besides that gang of ruffians, I saw a man of another sort looking up at the house; that was yesterday, and to-day ha ha! it was not without cause that I was

warned not to come here.

JACINTA: Arturo! Arturo! you break my heart. What is it that you suspect of me? See, see! I who have never touched you with my finger even; see, I embrace your knees, I kiss them, I kiss your feet, and entreat you for Our Blessed Lady's sake, to think nothing bad of me. Look at me at your

feet, O beautiful and beloved Englishman! have you no pity?

ARTHUR: No; none for deceit and hypocrisy. Farewell! (Jacinta swoons on the floor; Arthur gazes at her for a moment, and leaves the house.)

SCENE FOURTH.

A large, high terrace, on which is a public flower-garden, called the Garden of Saint PETER of Alcántara. ARTHUR on a stone seat, gazing over the city. RITA, in a black cloak reaching to her feet, and a white handkerchief on her head, approaches him.

RITA: I went to look for you, and your servant told me you were here. You are killing that child.

ARTHUR: Am I !

RITA: You are a true Englishman, to whom Our Lady has given neither heart nor soul. You are as incapable of feeling as those stones.

ARTHUR, (bitterly :) That is probably the reason I have been languishing here for weeks, a most miserable devil, instead of going home.

RITA: You have been brooding over your own imaginary griefs and wrongs, without a thought for the poor heart you have trampled under your feet. If you were a son of Portugal, or of any other land where the sun shines, and men have warm blood in their veins, you could no more stay away from her, than you could stay out of your skin.

ARTHUR, (with violence :) What you call imaginary wrongs are facts witnessed by my own eyes. The very next day I saw that man enter your house. RITA: That man is my son; he had been there the day before, while we had gone out to buy a candle for Our Lady of the Mountain; that was the

first time you saw him. I had thought him dead for years, but he has been travelling all over the world, and has now come back, come all the way from Brazil, to bring me good news, great news, a miracle of the blessed St. Polycarpus, to whom I made rogations night and day. My son is a rich man now, and a gentleman who wears a coat and a beaver-hat; he brushes his teeth and -scrapes his nails, and has a magnificent diamond in his shirt. But he is a good pious son still, he kisses his old mother's rough hand with the same respect as when he was a little lad, dressed in poor people's clothes.

ARTHUR: That is a very convenient story. Do me the favor to leave me

alone.

RITA, (turning to go:) I will, certainly. Adeus, Senhor
ARTHUR, (taking hold of her cloak :) What

how is Jacinta?

RITA: That is what I came to tell you, and a great deal more, if you would listen.

ARTHUR: Speak, then.

RITA: My master had been wrongfully condemned to the chains who? Jacinta's

ARTHUR: Your master?

RITA Jacinta's father, my master.

A little patience, Senhor. When you first, in an unlucky hour, began to come to our house, I warned Jacinta not to speak to you about her father; there is no use in exposing our misfortunes to proud foreigners and heretics, who have no vitals. All men may be led by the devil to err, and the evidence against my master was so strong that I could not be sure myself whether he was innocent or not; but this doubt I never breathed to Jacinta; she was sure he was guiltless. Afterward, when I thought that you were truly attached to the poor child, and seeing that you were a noble gentleman, who respected her innocence and defencelessness, my heart was moved to tell you all unreservedly, and I had made up my mind to do it, when a few words which my master found means to say to me in passing, made me aware of your errand here, and showed me a thousand difficulties in the way. The daughter of the supposed murderer of your brother would, I knew, be remorselessly spurned by you, even if your heart were torn to pieces in the act. I had always understood your fierce nature, in spite of the allconquering brightness of your honest face. An old woman, even an ignorant one like me, can read men's faces and men's hearts. Father Eusebius had advised the plan I had pursued, for he thought as I did, that through Jacinta's innocence and piety, you might be brought to Our Holy Mother the Church. I consulted him again. He said nothing could be done but to be silent. He allowed that we were in a difficult position, but he was convinced that Our Lady and the saints would help us, because our intentions were good. But Jacinta now began to entreat us to be allowed to tell you the truth; she is candor itself, and could not bear the burden of concealment. (She was ignorant, you know, that your brother was the murdered man, until that fatal day when yo told it to her yourself.) She begged on her knees to be allowed to tell yor secret, until Father Eusebius declared to her with severe authority, th dared to speak to you of her father, the most dreadful consequence sure to ensue, and through her fault. She began then to dread

tune to her father, and was silent. I was now in constant fear, and even dared to hope in my heart, that my old master, who was growing more and more feeble, would die soon, and go to Purgatory; (he need not have staid there long, we would have had ten masses a day said for him.) But Father Eusebius is a great man, and a saint; he confidently expected a miracle, and (with enthusiasm) behold the miracle! (takes some papers from under her cloak.) Look at these papers; look at the seals. You probably know that my master was condemned on being identified as the murderer by one of your brother's friends. But see what it is to be a heretic; he was mistaken; it was a man who bore a resemblance to my master, who really committed the deed. He confessed it on his death-bed, and has yielded up your papers; you can get them when you choose from your Consul. It was my son who brought them home from Brazil. Now, do you doubt still? Look at these papers and these seals; examine them yourself. If I could read them to you, I would. Where have you been all this time that you know nothing of this? My master is free; free and in his own house with his daughter, the apple of his eye, whom it breaks his heart to see drooping on the brink of the grave. I shall have a pretty penance to go through for my doubts and bad thoughts concerning my master; but as to you, no imaginable penance could ever wash out the sin you have committed against that angel of heaven. You stare stupidly; why, you don't even read the papers. If you do n't believe me, you can

ARTHUR: Let us go, (aside in English,) I cannot help it; I must, I must! RITA: To the Consul's?

ARTHUR: To Jacinta, to Jacinta !

SCENE FIFTH.

ANTONIO VIEIRA sitting in his house. JACINTA at his feet, her head on his knee. ANTONIO VIEIRA: My child, my beloved daughter, I would rather be the degraded creature I was last week, to the end of my life, and see you well, than have all the honors of the world, while you fade away so before my sight. Can you not cheer up, my sweet child? can you not smile for your father, who would joyfully give away even his soul for you?

A

JACINTA, (kisses his hand :) Yes, yes, father, I shall soon be better, I shall soon be well; permit me to embrace you respectfully. Now, dear father, you shall see me cheerful. I will go to my work, and finish the flowers on that mantle for Our Lady, (she takes a small silver image of the Virgin from her bosom,) and while I work I will think only of thee, O Eternal Fountain of Consolation! Thou hast been most merciful to us. (She replaces the image, and goes toward the work-frame.)

(RITA and ARTHUR enter; he springs toward her.) JACINTA: Arturo !

(ARTHUR presses her to his breast.)

THE WEED.

BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.

SHE walked by his grave in the moon-gold light, And looked at the column slender and white.

A mullen-weed, with golden mace,
Stood like a guard in the silent place.

'While you were living life wronged you indeed! But your heart was too noble to nurture a weed.

'I killed you with love as with poisoned wine, Which flowed like fire from these eyes of mine.

'Yet more than your wild love asked I gave, And for that you sleep in the silent grave.

'No evil weed which grows apace Should ever defile this holy place.'

Entering the grave-yard, on she went,
To pluck the weed from the monument.

She passed by head-stones one and two : 'Dead love, could I only sleep with you!'

She passed by head-stones three and four: 'Loved and wronged, shall we meet no more?'

Till she stood on the ill-set corner-stone Whence the sandy soil like a brook had flown.

Light was her weight as she plucked the weed, But it crashed the steps in toppling speed;

And the falling marble pillar of death
Crushes at once her life and breath:

And the evening mist is weaving a veil
O'er the face of the maiden dead and pale;

And a funeral garland and flowers sweet
Fall from the tomb at her head and feet;

And clothed in marble fair and white,

The bride by her bridegroom passes the night.

THE ENGLISH UNIVERSITIES:

THEIR RELATIONS TO AND INFLUENCE IN THE CHURCH AND STATE.

GOVERNMENT, education, and religion are the great human agencies which establish and maintain the security and stimulate the progress of society. Acting in concert, they are harmonious to one grand purpose, the material, intellectual, and moral development of the race. As a great philosopher has said: "The end of each of these is a component of the ultimate end of man.' Order being essential to the fulfilment of human destiny, this necessity gives rise to government. But we distinguish between the functions of education and religion, and those of organized restraint. The former are not limited in their sphere of usefulness. The latter, being opposed to natural freedom, is only tolerable in so far as it fulfils certain ends. Good government emanates from morality and intelligence. Their coöperation insures it. In their absence it cannot exist. It is by the presence of these, the combined oxygen and nitrogen of the moral atmosphere, that government inhales a vital element. Systems which proscribe these, aim a blow at their own stability, and the reaction must, sooner or later, visit upon them a just retribution a baptism of blood must, if need be, consecrate a new government to a worthier career, in which the healthful elements of religion and intelligence shall, in defiance of tyranny, become the corner-stones of progress and liberty. Such are the general relations of religion and education to government.

We are to inquire what has been the influence of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge in modelling Anglican civilization. From them has proceeded an influence which has entered into and moulded, for many centuries, the advancement of the people. Without their coöperation, it is hard to conceive how the Anglican race could have become, what it now is, the pioneer of civilization, the fountain of practical philosophy, a leading spirit in literature, and a mature example of intelligent liberty.

They are the Moses and Joshua who have brought the nation into the promised land. They are the brain of the body politic; the directing mind which has conducted the legislation and the habits of the community into the channels of enlightened prosperity.

I. Their influence has been direct, and indirect — direct, as an immediate power in the state; indirect, as educating the popular mind and modelling public opinion. The Universities of England are venerable in the service of advancing humanity. Their power over the public mind has grown with its growth. Men in every relation of life reverence their authority. Their neverfailing sympathy with the popular destiny, their political relations, their concentrated wisdom, and their great antiquity, all unite to give them eminence as a power in the state. To them, as to the learned and experienced arbiters of enlightened sentiment, all look for ripe counsel. Sequestered from the ambition of the selfish, and observant of events, they are the great conservative balancewheels of a progressive civilization. Three thousand minds, moulded to their