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that name; while a popular and ridiculous tradition makes his birth to occur thirteen months after his father's death.

Tarrey has followed this tradition in his history of Louis XIV., in which truth, sense, and style, are equally wanting.

9 His confidant, Mornay, etc. Duplessis Mornay, the most virtuous and influential of the Protestant party, was born at Buy, November 5, 1544. He was thoroughly master of the Latin and Greek languages, and of the Hebrew, so far as it could be known, which at that time was wonderful in a gentleman. He served his religion and his king both by his sword and his pen. It was he who was sent by Henry to Elizabeth, Queen of England. He had no instructions but a blank with the royal signature. He succeeded almost in every negotiation, because he was a true politician and not an intriguer. His letters are said to be written with much force and wisdom.

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When Henry IV. changed his religion, Mornay severely reproached him, and left the court. He was called the Pope of the Huguenots." All that is said of him in this poem accords with his character in history.

The reason that induced the author to choose Mornay was, that to him only belongs the character of philosopher thus developed in Canto VIII. :

"With courage undaunted, tho' to battle a foe, He looks death in the face, while he strikes not a blow."

And again in Canto VI. :

"His philosophy follows where his honor precedes,

Condemns war by his words, but supports by his deeds."

10 And equally Pompey, etc. Julius Cæsar being in Epirus, in the city of Apollonia, at this day called Ceres, left it in secret, and embarked on the little river Bolina, then called the Antus. He went alone, during the night, in a bark of twelve oars, to look for troops that were in the kingdom of Naples. He experienced a furious tempest. (See Plutarch).

Where Westminster echoes, etc. It is at Westminster that the English Parliament assemble. It requires the vote of the Lords and Commons, and the king's assent to make laws. 12 The Tower the Conqueror, etc. The Tower of London is an old castle, built near the Thames by William the Conqueror.

13 As a soldier, and not as ambassador, etc. Those who object to this supposed voy ge of Henry IV. to Eugland may say that it does not seem right thus to mix falsehood with truth in so recent a history; that those learned in the history of France will be shocked at it, and those who are ignorant will be led into error; that if fiction is permitted in an epic poem, the reader should easily discover it as such; that when the passions are personified, when Policy and Discord are described as going from Rome to laris, Love as enchaining Henry IV., no one is deceived by such descriptions; but when Henry IV. is seen to cross the sea to ask for succor from a princess of his religion, one will naturally suppose that he really made this

voyage; in a word, that such an episode shouli be considered less an imagination of the poet than a falsehood of the historian.

Those of a contrary opinion can reply that it is not only permitted to the poet to alter his tory in those facts which are not principal facts, but that it is impossible not to do so that never in the world are events so disposed by chance as to make of them an epic poem without any change; that there is no more cause for scruple in a poem than in a tragedy, in which changes are carried to a far greater extent; that if an author is too servilely attached to history, he will fall into the error of Lucan, whose work is more like a gazette in verse than a poem. To be sure, it would be ridiculous to transpose the principal events, which depended on each other, to place the battle of Ivry before that of Coutras, or of St. Bartholemew before that of the barricades; but Henry may be made to pass secretly into England, without this voyage, of which the Parisians are themselves supposed to be ignorant, changing in any wise the course of historical events. These same readers, who are shocked at his making a journey of a few leagues, would not be surprised at his going to Guienne, which is four times as far. If Virgil brought Eneas into Italy, who never went there; if he made him in love with Dido, who lived three hundred years after him, we may, without scruple, suppose an interview between Henry IV. and Queen Elizabeth, who held each other in great esteem, and who had so great a desire to see each other. It will be said that Virgil spoke of times very remote; that is true; but those events, remote as they were in antiquity, were well known. The Iliad and the history of Carthage were as familiar to the Romans as the most recent histories are to us; and it should be permitted to a French poet to deceive the reader by a few leagues as for Virgil to deceive them by three hundred years. In short, this mixture of fable with truth is acknowledged and followed, not only in poems, but in all romances. They are filled with adventures which form no part of the history, but which is not falsified by them. It is sufficient, to establish this voyage of Henry into England, to have taken advantage of a period when history has not given him other occupations. It is certain, then, that Henry, after the death of the Guises, could have taken this voyage, which would occupy at most fourteen days, and might be accomplished in eight. Moreover, this episode is the more probable, since Queen Elizabeth actually sent over to Henry, six months afterwards, four thousand English. Further it may be remarked, that Henry IV., the hero of this poem, is the only one who could give a correct history of the French court, and Elizabeth the only one who could listen to it. In short, it is only necessary to know whether the interview between Henry and Elizabeth is sufficiently important to excuse this fiction in the minds of those who condemn it, and to authorize it in those who approve it.

(End of the Notes to the First Canto.)

WHATEVER is inevitable is beneficent.

"GRANDPA DEXTER."

By Minnie S. Davis.

Is the month of June, for the first time, I had the pleasure of meeting with him who is known through a wide circle of friends by the affectionate title of "Grandpa Dexter." Many readers of the Repository will know at once to whom I refer, and greet the name with joy, while strangers will doubtless feel obliged for a brief sketch of one so worthy of gratitude and honor.

There is always difficulty and embarrassment in speaking with due propriety of the living; but when a player in life's changeful drama steps aside forever from the theatre of action, it is easy to judge of his merit and value; for at the touch of death all disguises and embellishments become transparent, or vanish away. Sometimes death tears off the royal purple from earth's petted idols, or quite dethrones them; again it crowns with glory and almost deifies some humble seeker after pearls of wisdom or of love.

Yet there are lives so simple and consistent, so directly in the line of duty and common sense that the blindest can understand. There are happy ones, Heaven's own elect, I think, who taste fruition even here; who behold the tiny seeds they have planted, watered, and nourished, grown to mighty trees whose verdant, spreading branches droop heavily with fruit, a thousand times more precious and fairer to the eye than the golden apples of Hesperides.

In speaking of a life thus blest in purpose and fulfilment, feelings of delicacy constrain me, and the consciousness that enthusiasm must be kept in check, lest florid tinting mar the purity of the picture. Thus humbly, yet feeling honored by the privilege, I present Grandpa Dexter" to the reader.

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Captain N. G. B. Dexter was the first Sunday-school scholar in the United States. Through a long life he has loved the Sunday-school, and has been an active laborer in this sacred vineyard. Here is an extract from the pen of a friend and former partner of the venerable Mr. Dexter, which tells in brief of the cir

cumstances giving rise to the first Sundayschool:

"Captain Dexter claims to be the only surviving scholar of the first Sundayschool ever established in this country, which was gathered by Mr. Slater, the first cotton-spinner in the United States, in his private residence in Pawtucket, R. I., September 15, 1799. The school consisted of seven boys, operatives in the mill; and the library, at the beginning, comprised three spelling-books. These boys, on a Sunday morning, were overheard by Mr. Slater in a discussion about going half a mile to steal apples, in which project young Dexter could not join; and the employer invited them into his house, rebuking them for their evil intentions, supplied them with fruit, and then and there set up the Sunday-school flag, under whose folds now march some four millions in our land. When a little boy, Dexter promised his mother that he would never taste intoxicating liquors; and he now declares that a drop has never passed his lips, nor a particle of tobacco ever defiled his breath. Up to this day, he is a zealous laborer in and for Sundayschools, having missed but a single Sunday (and that by illness) in nineteen years. At the ripe age of seventy-seven years, he seems in perfect health, and scarcely knows what it is to be tired. Almost every day, tokens come to him of the blessed harvests which are gathered in from his labors of love in former years."

It is difficult to realize that the Sundayschool dates from so recent a period, when we find its branches all over our land, from the northern to the southern limits, and from Atlantic's to Pacific's shore. The children and youth of our republic are gathered, for religious instruction, into magnificent temples, into simple chapels, into public halls, into humble country churches, into rude schoolhouses, and private dwellings. Indeed, in places and in aspects without number do we find the Sunday-school.

It is

Yet this beneficent institution, so fruitful in good, is comparatively new. but sixty-five years since the first little germ was planted. Seven ragged boys with

one teacher, and a library consisting of three Webster's Spelling-books! Look at that picture, and then at the institution as it appears to-day, and doubt, if you can, the progress and future perfect development of humanity.

With my thoughts of "Grandpa Dexter," I had always associated the attributes of age. I looked for the bowed form, the silvery hair, the mild, dim eye. I expected to hear a voice whose music was tremulous with weakness, and to behold a countenance in which every softened, shadowy line told of "passing away." Imagine, then, my surprise and pleasure at meeting the " young, old Grandpa Dexter" stood before me, erect and vigorous. I felt the grasp of his firm hand; I looked into his fresh countenance, and the light of his beaming eye fell warmly upon me; and his cheery voice went to my very heart, for the words it uttered were the benediction of a friend.

man." 66

This was " Grandpa Dexter," young with his seventy-seven years upon his head, and seeming the very embodiment of happiness and good-will.

That Mr. Dexter was a member of the first Sunday-school is itself of little importance; but that fact, in connection with his course in life, has linked his name inseparably with the precious Sunday-school. As soon as he had acquired the rudiments of an education, he established a Sunday-school himself, and taught the ignorant operatives reading, writing, and a little arithmetic. The Sunday-school was, for quite a time, like a common day-school, for the instruction of the ignorant. As he advanced toward manhood, his interest deepened, and he more fully realized the vast importance of the work of the Sunday-school. About this time the character of the instruction changed, and the Sunday-school became the nursery of the church.

Mr. Dexter used his influence in establishing other schools, and soon had the joy of beholding them springing up all about him. The Lord placed willing colaborers in the field he had chosen, and his heart was made glad.

interest has never flagged; he has used unsparingly his time and talents, his influence and wealth, for the upbuilding of the Sunday-school.

It was a pleasure to hear Mr. Dexter relate, with glistening eyes, incidents of his early labors, and to see his honesthearted gladness in the present condition of the Sunday-school. Though an ardent Universalist, Mr. Dexter is no selfish sectarist. In a nature like his, bigotry can find no place to take root.

Said he, "I have my own particular Sunday-school, which I love, and work in; but I often visit those of other churches. I am interested in them all, of every denomination, and pray that they may prosper, they are such good things, you know! Yes, I love 'em all. Why, even the Catholic children run after me in the street, and call me Grandpa Dexter'! and not long since, when I visited their school, I was invited to speak to the scholars. Such a thing is quite unheard of, -a Protestant and a Universalist addressing a Catholic Sunday-school!"

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I remarked upon my surprise at seeing him look so young. He laughed pleasantly, and related a little experience with evident relish. It was this:

A man who had been in boyhood a member of Mr. Dexter's Sunday-school, after long years' absence, returned to Pawtucket. He learned that his old benefactor was yet living, and went to see him. " Grandpa Dexter " chanced to be working in the grounds about his house. The stranger approached and inquired for Mr. Dexter.

"I am he," said our friend.

"Ah," said the stranger, "but I wish to see the old gentleman."

"I don't think you'll be apt to find an older than I, by the name of Dexter, about this place."

The man looked puzzled and incredulous, as he rejoined, "I want to see the old gentleman; they told me he was liv ing. I mean the one who taught a Sunday-school here in town nigh about sixty years ago. I'd go a good ways to see him."

Then of course followed explanations Through a long life, his devotion and and a season of pleasant intercourse.

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"Yes, of course; I couldn't have a golden wedding without them."

The old woman's face shone with an ecstasy of fervor as she cried, "The Lord bless ye, Grandpa Dexter, and I'll pray for ye always!"

That tells the story. Our friend has a warm place in many hearts, and why? Because his own great, kindly heart takes in its embrace the whole brotherhood of man. Oh, this is a renown worth living and laboring for, place in grateful, loving hearts! What can dazzling Fame offer in comparison? Hearts are immortal; but storied marble is only dust.

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THE ROSE-BUD.

[After the German.]

By Mrs. Helen Rich.

A TINY bud, that blushing laid
Its cheek upon a soft brown braid,
Would whisper of a loving lip,
And plead its honey-dew to sip.

At length a trembling hand unbound
The bud that shed such perfume round;
A sigh (ah! was it born of woe?) —
A kiss said "Little traitor, go!"

KING EYAMBA'S COACH.

In his book on Western Africa, Mr. Hutchinson gives a description of the Kalabar River.

"Up this stream, at Duketown, lived King Eyamba, in an iron house, consisting of two stories and an attic, manufactured in Liverpool, and erected upon mangrove posts about six feet high. Eyamba had insisted upon having an English carriage; but horses being unknown in his country, the people were compelled to coin a new appellation, and therefore styled them the white man's COWS. With admirable consistency, the coach was next christened the white man's Eyamba, however, having cow-house. procured a wheeled vehicle, could not find a road in his kingdom; and therefore, Let us echo the Irish woman's prayer, having levelled a space of a few yards, -"God bless Grandpa Dexter!' May was accustomed to have the carriage he live to see the institution he so loves drawn before him by a number of slaves, and cherishes magnified and perfected, whilst he walked after it, with his shinwith its largest promise more than fulfilling brass crown upon his head, and an ed. May he celebrate his diamond wed- immense party-colored parasol held aloft ding in honor and joy! And at last, at by a strong-armed man. last, when his spirit has gone to be a acquainted Mr. Hutchinson with his delearner in that upper, school," where sire to see Wellington and Napoleon, Christ himself doth rule," may his man'that he might show his pre-eminence tle fall upon some kindred soul. When over them.' He was accustomed to sign his body reposes, still and calm, beneath himself, King of all Black Men.' We the emerald sod, may there ever be fresh have here a curious insight into indigeflowers upon his grave, placed there by nous African society."

the hands of little children!

God's work is freedom. Freedom is dear to his heart. He wishes to make man's will free, and at the same time wishes it to be pure, majestic, and holy.

This monarch

THE scholar is more encumbered by the consciousness of what he lacks than by the wealth of his acquisitions; and the saint is so busy with what is yet required that he has little time to count what has been achieved.

A SOLDIER'S FUNERAL.

By Mrs. E. L. S.

Ir is the first warm, springlike day we have had this season, and the sunshine has quickened buds of promise into life with marvellous rapidity, and is especially beautiful in its typical signification of the spring-time of the soul, after the winter of death.

--

They have buried him, a soldier, to me a nameless man, and the sunshine lighted up the poplar box, draped with the stars and stripes of the old flag he loved so well, with a tinting surpassing the highest polish of the mahogany casket. It was well that God's beautiful sunshine glorified his last of earth!

His comrades, his captain, and colonel, all attended his body to its last restingplace behind the little rude church. The solemn strains of the Dead March, the reversed arms of his comrades, and the slow pace of all, were all as respectful as he or his friends could have wished. And no doubt his captain or conrade will write to his mother, sister, or sweetheart, to-night, of his sickness and death, and that every attention was shown him while living, and to his memory when dead." And those grieving, sad ones will gather all the consolation to be desired from such assurances. But wasn't it hard that, though buried with honors" in a grave to himself, while so many sleep in unknown heaps in the trenches, none of those dear ones were with him in his last sickness. to comfort his homesick heart with the sight of a female face of his own kindred, or hold his wasted hand as he crossed the shadowy path that leads from earth to heaven, so that with his last sense of earthly touch might be one that loved him, as his advent into heaven was the proffered hand of some friend gone home before him?

There were no tears shed over his grave, though some had moist eyes; and I saw one poor fellow on picket, if not shedding tears, looking on with them in

is gaze.

Those lonely, unkept graves, they make me sad,―their only epitaphs a few letters or numbers cut in a rough board! Though

we know it makes no difference to them where the useless casket lies, since the jewel has been transferred to the skies; we know that those who lived to weep felt all the pain of the loneliness and neglect they cannot remedy.

We have heard of those whose hearts bled with a deeper grief than over a neglected grave. They, trammelled with a cruel creed, grieved over the soul; for they could not believe the Good Father good enough to accept their unregenerated sons. As though the fountains of infinite love were not deep and wide enough to accept all, and make the sinful pure! This love, or goodness, that is down deep in the hearts of all his creatures, is often choked up with the sins of this world; but in the world to come, there are no sins to hinder it from expanding and making the impure clean. Would that all the grieving ones could commit their soldiers to Christ's keeping, who will suffer no greater ills to befall them than are incidental to this life. Let your tears flow to do honor to the heroic dead, who as surely die for their country when in hospitals as though on the field of battle under the enemy's guns. When you distrust God's power and will to save them, you doubt his goodness and dishonor them! Requiescat in pace, unknown one!

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JESUS CHRIST is the reflection of the divine love. There is nothing tender in him who blessed little children, there is nothing lovely in him who walked so kindly among the sorrows and wrongs of humanity, there is nothing that attracts us to the heart of him who sat at the marriage-feast in Cana, who mingled with the poor and suffering, who cleansed the leper and raised the dead, there is nothing in all that love that draws us to him that is not in the

Father's nature. If we only could see God's love, and realize it as expressed in Jesus Christ, we could not help longing for it, and praying that such, according to the finite capacity of our nature, might be the essence of our spiritual being.

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