tries? We are told that Pius IX. is a reformer. Indeed! In what sense is he a reformer? Has he divested himself of any of his absolute prerogatives? Has he cast off his claims to infallibility? Has he flung aside his triple crown? Has he become a republican? Has he emancipated his people? Has he suppressed the Jesuits? Far from it. Nothing of this has been done. He maintains his own prerogatives as absolute as Gregory XIX., or any other of his illustrious predecessors. In what, then, does the world give him credit for being a reformer? For building up a new and firmer foundation to his own secular and hierarchical power; for permitting a press to be established in Rome, under his own supervision and control; for carrying out measures not to be censured, but certainly giving him no pretensions beyond that of a selfish sagacity, intent on the study of all means calculated to add stability to his spiritual power, and firmness to his temporal throne.

But, it is said, if Rome will not come to America, America must go to Rome! This is the new doctrine of an age of retrogressive progress. If the Pope will not establish a republic for his Italian subjects, we, the American people, must renounce all the ties of our glorious freedom, and endorse the Papal system as the perfection of human wisdom, by sending an ambassador to Rome to congratulate "His Holiness" on having made-what? The Roman people free? Ohi no; but on having made tyranny amiable; in having sugared the poisoned cake. And for this, the highest crime against freedom, we are to commission an embassador to Rome! Is

there an American heart that does not recoil from the utter degradation of the scheme? Sir, in the name of the American people, I protest against this innovation, which would make us a by-word among the nations.

THE ROMAN CATHOLIC RELIGION.

BY GRACE GREENWOOD.

O CLEOPATRA of religions! throned in power, glowing and gorgeous in all imaginable splendors and luxuries- proud victor of victors—in the "infinite variety" of thy resources and enchantments more attractive than glory, resistless as fate -now terrible in the dusk splendor of thy imperious beauty -now softening and subtle as moonlight, and music, and poet-dreams-insolent and humble, stormy and tender! O alluring tyranny, O beautiful falsehood, O fair and fatal enchantress, O sovereign sorceress of the world! the end is not yet, and the day may not be far distant, when thou shalt lay the asp to thine own bosom, and die.

And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky ;

Beneath it rung the battle-shout,
And burst the cannon's roar ;—-

The meteor of the ocean air,

Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,

No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee ;-
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

O better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;

Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;

Nail to the mast her holy flag,

Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms,—
The lightning and the gale!

THEY never fail who die

In a great cause: the block may soak their gore,
Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs
Be strung to city gates and castle walls ;-
But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,

They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
Which overspread all others, and conduct

The world at last to freedom.

MONUMENT TO THE PILGRIMS.

FROM THE NEW YORK MIRROR.

SUBSCRIPTIONS are accumulating, and arrangements are rapidly progressing for the erection of a monument to the Pilgrims. The rock-ribbed earth is to be smitten, and from the quarry the snowy marble, or the grey granite is to be evoked, to swell from a durable base into a sky-piercing column, whose sides shall bear record of the peerless band, who, daring the wintry sea and the wilderness, landed centuries agone on that rock of Plymouth, which has since become a more than Caaba to millions of their descendants-millions of proud and happy freemen. Worthy object for a national monument-column, obelisk, pyramid, or temple !-worthy theme for an epic in granite or marble, in which the heroism of the truest of heroes shall be sung while the earth lasts.

Let the monument go up, to the chorus of hammer and trowel, ringing their hymn of grateful industry-a strain caught from the national pulse and heart-until, crowned with its cap-stone, it shall catch the morning's smile with a music of hallowed reminiscence, sweeter than the song of Memnon. A monument to the Pilgrims! fit associate of Bunker's column, and of that temple-based shaft rising to the memory of him who led the children of the Pilgrims through the perils of