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It was thus that Wilberforce faced in Parliament the sneers and rage of wealthy slave-owners. It was thus, "in the teeth of clinched antagonisms," that education was established, that missions were founded, that the cause of religious liberty was won.

The persecuted object of to-day is the saint and exemplar of to-morrow. St. John enters the thronged streets of the capital of Asia, as a despised Galilean and an unnoticed exile; but when generations have passed away, it is still his name which clings to its indistinguishable ruins. St. Paul stands in his ragged gabardine, too mean for Gallio's supreme contempt, but to-day the cathedral dedicated to his honor towers over the vast imperial city where the name of Gallio is not so much as heard. Says a great orator, "Count we over the chosen heroes of this earth, and I will show you the men who stood alone, while those for whom they toiled and agonized poured on them contumely and scorn. They were glorious iconoclasts sent out to break down the Dagons worshipped by their fathers. The very martyrs of yesterday, who were hooted at, whom the mob reviled and expatriated, to-day the children of the very generation who mobbed and reviled them are gathering up their scattered ashes to deposit them in the golden urn of their nation's history."

THE FATE OF EUROPEAN KINGS.

T. F. MEAGHER.

I WAS one evening on the Ohio, when the river had been swollen with recent rains. The current was passing quickly, but with the placidity that reminded me of the old proverb, "Smooth waters run deep." It was early in May. The sky was pale.

THE FATE OF EUROPEAN KINGS.

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Thin clouds with softened outlines, and mingling gently with one another, were moving towards the north. There was something in the air which, if not vivifying, if not genial, was quieting.

From the various incidents that were going on in the boat about me, and the varying features of the scene through which we were gliding, I turned to one object, which, far more forcibly than the rest, attracted my attention. It was a sycamore, a noblelooking tree; noble in its proportions, noble in its profusion, noble in its promise. The birds were in it, on its topmost branches, striking out their wings and uttering their quick notes of joy. Oh, with what a sweet thrill came forth the liquid song from that waving, sparkling foliage! and how confident it made the looker-on, that the tree from which it gushed forth in a thousand mingling streams, would stand, and flourish and put forth its beauty, and rejoice in the fragrant breath of the summers, and stoutly defy the shock of winter for years to come.

The roots

It was a dream. I looked downward. were stripped. The earth had been loosened from them, and they glistened like bones, whitened as they were, with the water which tumbled through them, and about them, and over them. One hold alone it seemed to have, but the sleepless element was busy upon that. Even while I looked, the soft mould slipped in flakes from the solitary stay which held the tree erect. There it stood, full of vigor, of beauty, of festive life; full of promise, with a grave, perhaps fathoms deep, open at its feet. The next flood, and the last link must give way, and down must come that lord of the forest, with all his honors, with all his strength, with all his mirth. The remorseless river shall toss him to the thick slime, and then fling him up again, tearing his tangled finery,

and bruising and breaking his proud limbs until, two thousand miles below, on some stagnant swamp, tired of the dead prey, the wild pursuer, chafed and foaming from the chase, shall cast a shapeless log.

"Such," said I, "shall be the fate of European kings. It is now summer with them. Bright leaves are upon the tree, and life and song are among them, but death is at the root. The next flood, and the proud lord shall be overthrown, the waters shall bear him away, and when they have stripped him of his finery, they shall fling him in upon the swamp to rot. Such shall be the fate of European kings, European aristocracies, European despotisms! Who will lament it ? Who would avert it? What, though it is now summer with these kings! What, though the evil ones have been exalted, and the perjured have been named holy, and the blood of the people is mixed with the wine of princes, and illuminations bewilder the memory of those who mourn, and the reign of the wicked is a jubilee and his power supreme! What recks it? It shall pass as the dream of the drunkard, as the crown of pride from the drunkard of Ephraim !"

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