mention, that the work which rendered his name universally known throughout Europe was his "History of the Tridentine Council, in which are discussed all the artifices employed by the court of Rome, to prevent that either the truth of her dogmas be known, or the reformation of the Papacy be effected. By Pietro Soave Palano," (anagram of Paolo Sarpi Veneto). This book acquired extraordinary celebrity, especially in this country, where it was dedicated to King James I. This edition, in Italian, was first published in England in 1619, by Marc Antonio de Dominis, ex-Archbishop of Spolatro, who, in his episcopal robes had in 1617 publicly abjured Catholicism in St. Paul's Cathedral. These facts, added to the stern and deep reasoning of the book, and the author's great learning, excited general curiosity, and in the following year the work was published in Latin, French, English, and German. Till then the Council of Trent was as unknown to the men of that epoch as any of the modern diplomatic mysteries are in our day. Fra Paulo was much annoyed that the Archbishop de Dominis had published his manuscript, which he had neither dedicated to James I., nor authorised to be made public. The modesty of the Venetian friar has been incontestably proved by the unanimous voice of his contemporaries; while de Dominis is known as an unscrupulous man, who made extracts from papers which Sarpi had lent him, and then published them without the author's sanction. It is probable that the work was unfinished, and that Sarpi had intended to publish it when he thought an effect might be produced in Italy favourable to some grand object he had in view. Whatever his idea may have been, it failed through the premature haste of a man who had the inconsistency to be reconverted to Catholicism, and who having returned to Rome in the hope of obtaining greater honours and wealth than he enjoyed in England, suffered an ignominious death in the Castle of St. Angelo.

WHAT HE WAS, AND WHAT HE DID.

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Serious discussions arose in after years among the learned, as to whether Fra Paulo thought of introducing into Italy the doctrines of Calvin, Luther, or John Huss, or some new doctrine. The fact of his having been the intimate friend of Sir Henry Wotton, the English ambassador at Venice from 1604 to 1610, and of his chaplain, William Bedell (afterwards Bishop of Kilmore), whom he had requested to translate the Anglican Liturgy, led his adversaries to accuse him of Protestantism; but as he procured translations of every Protestant book in the English, German, and even Bohemian languages, it is probable that he simply wished to know the progress of the religious question in the various countries of Europe. It, however, seems evident that he neither thought of founding a new sect, nor of joining any of those already in existence, but rather to effect a thorough reformation within the Papacy.

Whatever may have been the plans he had in his mind, that which he accomplished is sufficient to place him among the greatest men of his time. In an age of prejudice, superstition, persecution, and universal religious fanaticism, he boldly asserted the right of the State to be independent of the Church, denounced the encroachments of Rome in assuming temporal power, exposed the iniquity of the Popes in having falsified the dogmas of religion, showed the injustice and tyranny of the clergy and their ecclesiastical councils, dissipated that infatuation which made the people of Italy believe in the spiritual power and infallibility of the Pope; and during his whole life carried on a struggle against the Papal See, without raising the prejudices of the people, and thus prepared the way to that gradual revolution which has already undermined the prerogatives of the Popes, and morally destroyed the supremacy of Rome. E. F.

LEAVES FROM THE LINDEN GROVES.

GERMAN LAYS TRANSLATED.

THE HEART OF MAN.

THE heart of man is like the flower
That blooms upon the grassy glade;
To-day in glory bright and pure,
To-morrow it may droop and fade.

The flowers, I think they once were stars,
And sparkled with celestial light:
That's why the blossoms mourn and weep
When stars begem the summer night.

Dropt from its shining place on high,
Man's heart is now a fallen star;
And tearful is the gaze that eyes
Its vacant home in heav'n afar.

THE BELL IN THE HEART.

(IMITATED.)

Thine heart beats quick the livelong day;
What can it mean? what does it say ?
It beats, my child, the dark night through;
What says that throbbing heart to you?
A quiet bell, with gentle tone,
The good God gave thee for thine own:
It hangs upon thy spirit's door,
And Jesus rings it more and more;
And waiting still without He stays,
And for an entrance kindly prays;
And louder rings thine ear to win,
And longs thou 'lt cry, "Come in, come in."

BIGGS.

THE BELL IN THE HEART.

So beats thy heart day after day,
Till its last pulse hath pass'd away.
In that last pulse it slowly rang
At Heaven's gate with solemn clang;
And leaves thy spirit waiting there
An answer to its final prayer.—

Christ says,

"Come in, a welcome guest,
I found with thee a pious rest.
As thou lov'dst me, so loved I thee:
Come, thy dear Saviour's face to see.
Welcome to Heaven's eternal rest,
Thou dearly loved and richly blest!"

SCHEURLIN.

ON THE SEA-SHORE.

There gazes on his swelling bales
The merchant with delight;
Here a poor fisher almost fails
His broken nets to right.

The sunshine there, and storm-clouds here,
There silence, and here song;

There glad return, here parting's tear,

And the last gaze so long.

Two girls are seated on the strand:

One weeps as o'er a grave; The other from her gentle hand Throws roses o'er the wave.

The one, Woe's sorrow-breathing child,
Groans 'mid her inward strife,

"O sea, O sea, so dark and wild,

Thou 'rt like, so like my life!"

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The other, Joy's light merry child,
Knows nought of pain or strife;
She smiles, "O sea, so soft and mild,
Thou 'rt like, just like my life!"

The sea flows on, it seemeth loth
To heed or song or prayers;
The sea flows on, engulfing both
The roses and the tears!

NIGHT AT SEA.

The night is still and clear,
The land is far,-how far!
High, softly as in fear,
Steals ev'ry glitt'ring star.

It seems to me, O God,
As o'er the waters cold,
My Jesus glorious trod,
As once in days of old.

And oh to sink I'm fain,
Deep in the stilly sea,
If so, I could but gain
One nearer gaze on Thee.

To see Thy face, dear Lord,
Is all my longing's sum;
O speak the bidding word:
"I come, my God, I come."

GRÜN.

W.