in the downfall of a dynasty that had neither by virtue or crime earned a throne? We know not; but we know that many of his predictions, uttered on the lone rock of the Southern ocean, were fulfilled in the whirlwind, the storm, the eclipse of a failing despotism, and in the new day star of Freedom that rose over the short yet fearful commotion. Sunday was quiet; Monday was a day of determination among the friends of liberty; Tuesday the death shots began to rattle, and on Wednesday the clouds of battle settled heavily over the city; the tocsin rung out its cry of anguish and dismay through the gloom, the reverberating cannon muttered solemnly of destruction ; and night, after such a day, scarcely brought additional gloom. Among the dreadful things of the world's history, the stillness that reigned throughout the streets of Paris on Wednesday night may be numbered. The shots became less frequent, and, at eleven o'clock, the last echo broke upon the dull ear of night-then it seemed as if the heart of war was broken, and its last groan uttered. But to men accustomed to horrible scenes this stillness was more dreadful than the brazen thunders of the day. Uncertainty hung over the destinies of France. Four wretched hours bounded this deathlike silence, and before the morning light visited the world, the tocsin, as if sounded by invisible beings, simultaneously, from one end of Paris to the other, awakened the cry of to arms-to arms! This was the people's tocsin. Heavy sounds, the breaking up of pavements and the urging forward of cannon, disturbed the morning, and the ruddy sun rose on Lafayette at the head of the old National Guards, raised up,as by a resurrection morning, to the overthrow of despotism. The terrible men of the fauxbourgs came down-those dogs of blood that howled around the guillotine of '95. They came for once in a holy cause. The nation moved this day in its strength and tower and palace and boulevard, one after another, fell into the hands of the illustrious Lafayette, the veteran of three revolutions, and now, more then ever, the saviour of beautiful France. The tricolor waved on the centre pavillion of the Tuilleries, and on the summits of Notre Dame. The work was done. The conflict was over. A nation was free. Its tyrants were weeping fugitives towards the sea shore, or lurking in mean habiliments of disguise through the provinces. What a lesson to tyrants! Never let impious man think the mountain of his earthly power to be strong; never let him forget that God is over all, and is right able to humble the proud. A throne is but a bubble. have seen it burst, leaving thin air in place of its unsubstantial fabric. But there is one throne of Sapphire above the heavens which is established forever. There change cometh not.-Revolution invadeth not the kingdom of God. The poorest saint on earth may have a throne there and be a king where the proud kings of earth can claim no domination, no throne, no reverence, no name. FAREWELL TO SUMMER. The Summer is over-farewell! Like those for the absent deploring; There's a world where winter comes not, Where no clouds the atmosphere blot, That world is the home of the soul, ANCIENT EGYPT. THIS venerable land still retains its consideration, as the earliest nursery of religion and the sciences. Its grandeur was of a mould too solid to wear away by the attrition of years. Its architecture, although in ruins, is of gigantic proportion and enduring materials. Its ruins are more distinct than those of later countries, and all have this strange national peculiarity about them— they are indelibly printed with characters which have, until recently, remained unintelligible through centuries. The vale of Egypt reaches from the ancient ruins of Meroe, or from the cataracts, along the course of the Nile until it meets and mingles with the waves of the Mediterranean. 'Far off from sunburnt Meroe, That beats on the Egyptian shore.' From the sea which once drank in the 'seven mouthed Nile' the majestic ruins of city after city are found up to the very cataracts, encumbering the vale with relics of departed grandeur-and the same features of architecture, immense weight, solidity and collossal proportion, exist in all that remains from the prostrate pillar to the everduring pyramid. M. Jean Francois Champollion, a distinguished French scholar, profiting by the investigations of an Englishman, the late Dr. Young, whose attention had previously been devoted to the same subject, seems destined to be the reader of the hieroglyphic volume of antiquity. Champollion's Precis du Systeme Hieroglyphique shows the victory he has gained as well as exhibits the hopes which stimulate him forward in his illustrious course of discovery. The first achievement of Dr. Young, and since of Champollion, was to discover that the names of kings, royal names, were invariably inclosed in a sort of oval ring, called by Champollion a Cartouche. The characters within these rings signified the name of a king-and when this name had been ascertained, progress, of course, was gained in the work of making an alphabet. Champollion has discovered hieroglyphics to be of three classes or kinds, having each their distinct and obscure peculiarities. Greppo's valuable work, now publishing in Boston, on the general subject of Egyptian liberature and the recent discoveries, must make a valuable acquisition to our stock of knowledge; and the Christian cannot but be grateful that in this age of philosophizing and searching for facts, Champollion has found on the monuments and within the rolls of papyrus he has read, the strongest collateral proofs of the veracity of the sacred records of inspiration. Written for and pronounced by J. N. Maffitt, Jr. at an Academical exhibition in Portsmouth, N. H. From the Emerald Isle, where hearts are brave, The land of song, of beauty, and of soul, Where fancy reigns, and generous thoughts control That land, where genius spreads its ample wing, Where liberty hath sons and poets sing- |