fess (if I may use such an expression), an unusual expansion. I felt confident that I had become on a sudden the subject of a good deal of not unnatural envy. I excused people for it, and never thought of blaming or of resenting it. My companions in the every-day walks of life, I treated, I am satisfied, with the same consideration as before.

In short, I concealed my elation as much as possible, and only indulged the playful elasticity of my spirits in a frequent private perusal of that column of the New York Times which made the announcement of my appointment, and where my name appeared in print, associated with those of the distinguished Mr. Soulé, Mr. Greaves (I believe), Mr. Daniels, Mr. Brown, Mr. McCrea, and a great many others.

I cannot accurately describe my feelings when the postmaster of our town (a smart gentleman of great tact, but now turned out), handed me a huge packet from the Department of State, franked by Mr. Marcy (evidently his own hand had traced the lines), sealed with the large seal of the Department, and addressed to me, Mr. Blank, Consul of the United States for Blank. I took the post

It con

master by the hand and endeavored to appear cool. I think I made some casual remark about the weather. Good heavens, what a hypocrite! I broke open the packet with emotion. tained a notice (I think it was in the Secretary's hand) of my appointment to Blank. It contained a printed list of foreign ministers and consuls, in which my name was entered in writing. In the next issue, I was sure it would appear in print. It contained a published pamphlet (quite thin) of instructions. It contained a circular, on paper of a blue tinge, recommending modest dress. I liked the friendly way in which the recommendation was conveyed; not absolutely compelling, but advising. -a black coat, and black pantaloons. In the warmth of my grateful feelings at that time, I think I should have vowed compliance if the Secretary had advised saffron shorts, and a skyblue tail-coat.

I have spoken of the arrival of a second American ship; such was the fact. I need not say that the papers were made out in the same style as the previous ones; I had now gained considerable facility in the use of the seal. Upon the payment of the fees I ventured to attach the seal to my receipt for the same. It was not necessary was not usual, even; still I did it. If the occasion were to be renewed, I think I should do it again.

it

Not long after this accession of business, which gave me considerable hopes of-in time — replacing the flag, I received a visit from an Italian gentleman just arrived from New York, where he had been an attaché to an opera troupe. He informed me with some trepidation that the authorities were not satisfied with his papers, and had given him notice to return by sea.

I asked him if he was an American: whereupon he showed me a court certificate of his intentions to become a citizen, dated a couple of days before his leave, and with it an imposing-looking paper, illustrated by a stupendous eagle. This last, however, I found upon examination, was only the instrument of an ambitious Notary Public, who testified, thereby, to the genuine character of the court certificate, and at the same time invited all foreign powers to treat the man becomingly. The paper, indeed, had very much the air of a pass

port, and, by the Italian's account, had cost a good deal more.

I told him I should be happy to do what I could for him, and would cheerfully add my testimony to the bona fide character of the court certificate. The man, however, wished a passport.

I told him that the only form of passport of which I knew (and I showed the six blanks), involved a solemn declaration on my part, that the party named was an American citizen. The Italian gentleman alluded to M. Koszta and the New York Herald.

I expressed an interest in both; but told him that I had as yet no knowledge of the correspondence in the Koszta affair; that there had been no change in the consular instructions (and I showed him the little pamphlet).

I promised, however, to communicate with the Chargé, who might be in possession of later advices; and, in addition, offered to intercede with the authorities to grant permission to an unoffending gentleman to visit his friends in the country.

Upon this I undertook a considerable series of notes and letters, by far the most elaborate and numerous which had yet issued from my consular bureau. I will not presume to say how many there were, or how many visits I paid to the lodgingquarters of the suspected gentleman. I found it requisite, to secure him any freedom of action,— to become sponsor for his good conduct. I need not say (after this) that I felt great solicitude about him.

The notice of "absent on business" became almost a fixture in the office window. I had written previously to the Department for instructions in the event of such application; I had never received them; indeed I never did. The Chargé flatteringly confirmed my action, and "relied on my discretion." I was sorry to find he relied so much upon it.

It seemed to me that an office involving so large discretion should, at the least, have better furniture. The stool, though now repaired, was a small stool. I sat upon it nervously. The "Statutes at Large" I looked on with pride and satisfaction. I had inaugurated them, so to speak, in the office. I placed my little Vattel by the side of them; I hope it is there now-though there was no eagle on the back.

To return to the Italian gentleman, I at length succeeded in giving him a safe clearance. I think he was grateful: he certainly wore a grateful air when he left my office for the last time, and I felt rewarded for my labor. It was the only reward, indeed, I received: if he had offered a fee, I think I should have declined. Was I not there, indeed, for the service of my countrymen, and of my intended countrymen? Of course I was.

The day after the Italian gentleman left I paid my office rent for the current month, besides a small bill the serving-man brought me for the caulking of the office boat. It appeared that it had grounded with the tide, and without our knowledge (there being no American ships in port), had remained exposed for several days to

the sun.

Keeping the office in business trim, and sitting upon the office stool, I received, one day, a very large packet, under the seal of the Department. I had not heard from Washington in a long time, and it was a pleasant surprise to me. Possibly it might be some new and valuable commission; possibly, it might bring the details of the proposed change in the Consular system. Who knew?

In such an event I wondered what the probable salary would be at my post; something handsome, no doubt. I glanced at the " I glanced at the "arms" of my country with pride, and (there being no American ship in port), broke open the packet.

It contained two circulars, embracing a series of questions, ninety in number, in regard to shipbuilding, ship timber, rigging, hemp, steamships, fuel, provisioning of vessels, light-house dues, expenses of harbor, depth of ditto, good anchorages, currents, winds, cutting of channels, buoys, rates of wages, apprentices, stowage facilities, prices current, duties, protests, officers of port, manufactures, trade facilities, leakages, wear and tear, languages, pilots, book publication, etc., etc., on all of which points the circulars requested full information, as soon as practicable, in a tabular form, with a list of such works as were published on kindred subjects, together with all Government orders in regard to any, or all of the suggested subjects, which were in pamphlet form; and if in a foreign language, the same to be accurately translated into American.

The accompanying letter stated that it was proposed to allow no remuneration for the same; but added "faithful acquittal of the proposed task will be favorably viewed."

I reflected (I sometimes do reflect).

A respectable reply even to the questions suggested, would, supposing every facility was thrown in my way by port officers and others, involve the labor of at least six weeks, and the writing over of at least ninety large pages of foolscap paper (upon which it was requested that the report should be made).

I reflected, farther that the port officer, as yet affecting a large share of his old ignorance, would, upon presentation of even the first inquiries as to the depth of the harbor, send me to the guardhouse as a suspicious person; or, recognizing my capacity, would report the question as a diplomatic one to the Governor; who would report it back to the Central Cabinet, who would report it back to the maritime commander in an adjoining city; who would communicate on the subject with the police of the port; who would communicate back with the marine intendant; who would report accordingly to the Central Government; who would in due time acquaint the Chargé at the capital with their conclusions,

I reflected that I had already expended, on behalf of the Government, more of time and of money than I should probably (there being no American ship in port) ever receive again at their hands.

I reflected that life was, so to speak, limited; and that in case I should determine to give it up to gratuitous work for my country, or, indeed, for any party whatever, I should prefer that the object of my charity should be a needy object.

I reflected that I had given bonds in the sum of two thousand dollars (with sound bondsmen) for the stool, the blank passports, the pewter and brass seals, the small-sized flag, and the "arms;" and I examined them with attention.

I reflected that while these things were in a capital state of preservation, and my health still unimpaired, I had better withdraw from office. I therefore sent in my resignation.

I do not think there has been any omission in the performance of my consular duties; it involved, indeed, a more expensive charity on my part than I am in the habit of extending to the indigent. I trust that the Government is grateful.

In overlooking my books I find charges against the Government for nineteen dollars and sixtythree cents for postages and stationery. To make the sum an even one I have drawn on the Government (after the form prescribed in the consular instructions) for twenty dollars, making an overdraft of thirty-seven cents, for which I hope the Government will take into consideration my office and boat rent, my time and repairs to the consular stool.

Finding the draft difficult of negotiation upon the great European exchanges, I may add that I have carried it for a long time in my pocket. Should it be eventually paid, I shall find myself in possession, by adding the thirty-seven cents to sums received in fees during the period of my consulate, - of the amount of some thirty dollars, more or less.

I have not yet determined how to invest this. I am hoping that Mr. Powers, who I hear wears the title of Consul, will find some pretty Florentine model-woman to make an "America" of. If he does so, and will sell a small plaster cast at a reasonable price, I will buy it with my consular income, and install the figure (if not too nude) in my study, as a consular monument.

I shall be happy to welcome my successor; I will give him all the aid in my power; I will present him to the ten-penny reading-room, and shall be happy to inscribe his name in advance at either of the hotels. I will inform him of the usual anchorage ground of American ships, so far as my observation has gone. I shall be pleased to point out to him, through the indulgence of my servingman, the best grocer's shop in the port, and another where are sold wines and varnish.

Should the office-stool require repair, I think I could recommend with confidence a small journeyman joiner in a neighboring court.

He will have my best hopes for lucrative employment in his new position, and for happiness generally.

For myself, consular recollections are not, I regret to say, pleasant. I do not write ExUnited States Consul" after my name. I doubt if I ever shall.

All my disturbed dreams at present take a consular form. I waked out of a horrid nightmare only a few nights since, in which I fancied that I was bobbing about fearfully in a boat-crashing against piles and door-posts-waiting vainly for an American captain.

I have no objection to serve my country; I have sometimes thought of enlisting in the dragoons. I am told they have comfortable rations, and two suits of clothes in a year. But I pray Heaven that I may never again be deluded into the acceptance of a small consulate on the Mediterranean.

***AN OLD STYLE FARM FROM RURAL STUDIES.

The stock equipment of this farm of nearly four hundred acres, consisted of twelve cows, some six head of young stock, two yoke of oxen, a pair of horses, and a hundred and fifty sheep. I blush even now as I write down the tale of such poor equipment for a farm which counted at least two hundred and seventy acres of open land-the residue being wood, or impenetrable swamp. And it is still more melancholy to reflect that the portion of the land which aided most in the sustenance of this meagre stock, was that which was most I speak of those nearly in a state of nature. newly cleared pasture-lands from which the wood

had been removed within ten years. In giving this description of a farm of twenty years ago, I feel sure that I am describing the available surface of a thousand farms in New England to-day. We boast indeed of our thrift and enterprise, but these do not work in the direction of land culture —at least not in the way of that liberal and gen erous culture which insures the largest product. I doubt greatly if there be any people on the face of the earth, equally intelligent, who farm so poorly as the men of New England; and there are tens of thousands less intelligent who manage their lands infinitely better.

I come back to the old farm, with its meagre stock and its wide acres. Of course there was something to be sold. Farmers never get on without that. First of all, came the "veals"-selling in that day for some two cents a pound, live weight. (They now sell in the New York market for ten.) This bridged over the spring costs, until the butter came from the first growth of the pastures.

How well I remember tossing myself from bed at an hour before daylight, Seth (by previous orders) having the horse and wagon ready, and by candle-light seeing to the packing of the spring butter the firkins being enwrapped in dewy grass, fresh cut- and then setting forth upon the long drive (twelve miles) to the nearest market town. What a drive it was! Five miles on, I saw the early people stirring and staring at me, as they washed their faces in the basin at the well. Then came woods, and silence, but a strange odorous freshness in the air possibly some near coalpit gave its kreosotic fumes, not unpleasant; some owl, in the swamps I passed, lifted its melancholy hoot; further on I saw some early riser driving his cows to pasture; still further I caught sight of children at play before some farm-house door, and the sun being fairly risen, I knew their breakfasts were waiting them within.

After this, I passed occasional teams upon the road, and gave a "good morning good morning" to the drivers. Then came the toll gate: I wondered if the day's profits would be equal to the toll? After this came the milk-wagons whisking by me, and I envied them their short rounds; at last (the sun being now two hours high) came sight of the market town - city, I should say; for the legislature had given it long before the benefit of the title; and on the score of church spires, and taverns, and shops, and newspapers, and wickedness, it deserved the name.

I wish I could catch sight once more of the old gentleman (a good grocer as the times went) who plunged his thumb-nails into my golden rolls of butter, and said: "We're buying pooty fair butter at twelve and a half cents, but seein' as it's you, we'll say thirteen cents a pound for this,' and he cleaned his thumb-nail upon the breech of his trowsers.

I am not romancing here, I am only telling a plain, straightforward story of my advent, some twenty years ago, upon a summer's morning into the city of N———. I recall now vividly the detestably narrow and muddy streets- the poor horse, (I had bought it of the son of our deacon,) wheezing with his twelve-mile drive my own empty faint stomach the glimpses of the beautiful river between the hills-and the golden butter which I must needs sell to my friend the grocer at thirteen cents! I hope he had never any qualms of conscience; but it is a faint hope to entertain of grocers. I knew a single naively honest one; but to him I never offered anything

for sale. I feared he might succumb to that temptation.

After the butter, (counting some forty odd pounds in weight per week,) the next most important sale was that of the lambs and wool. The lambs counted ordinarily leaving out the losses of the newly dropped ones by crows and foxes -some hundred or more. And nice lambs they were; far better. than the half I find in the markets to-day. Nothing puts sweeter and more delicate flesh upon young lambs than that luxuriant growth of herbage which springs from freshly cleared high-lying wood-lands. In piquancy and richness, it is as much beyond the lambs of stall-fed sheep, as the racy mutton of the Dartmoors is beyond the turnip-fatted wethers of the downs of Hampshire. And yet these lambs were delivered to the butcher at an ignoble price; I think a dollar and a half a head was all that could be secured for animals which in the city would bring to-day nearly five dollars. The wool was bought up by speculators in that time, and the speculators were not extravagant. I remember very well driving off upon a summer's afternoon, mounted upon twelve great sacks of fleeces, and being rather proud of my receipts, at the rate of twenty-eight cents per pound. (The same wool would have brought two years since eighty cents per pound.)

After we disposed of the butter and the wool, and during the late autumn months, came the cartage of wood - some eight miles to a port upon the river, at which four dollars per cord was paid for good oak wood, and five for hickory. At present rates of labor, these are sums which would not pay for the cutting and cartage.

I must not forget the swine two or three venerable porkers, and in an adjoining pen a brood of young shoats - that would equip themselves in great layers of fat, from the whey during the hot months, and the yellow ears of corn with the first harvesting of October. Day after day, through May, through June, came the unwearied round of milking, of driving to pasture, of plowing, of planting; day after day the sun beat hotter on the meadows, on the plowland, on the reeking sty; day after day the buds unfolded -- the pink of orchards hung in flowery sheets over the scattered apple trees; the dogwood threw out its snowy burden of blossoms from the edges of the wood; the oaks showed their velvety tufts, and with midsummer there was a world of green and of silence -- broken only by an occasional " Gee, Bright!" of the teamster, or the cluck of a matronly hen, or hum of bees, or the murmur of the brook. All this inviting to a very dreamy indolence, which, I must confess, was somehow vastly enjoyable.

Nothing to see? Lo, the play of light and shade over the distant hills, or the wind, making tossed and streaming wavelets on the rye. Nothing to hear? Wait a moment and you shall listen to the bursting melodious roundelay of the merriest sing. er upon earth-the black and white coated Bobo'-Lincoln, as he rises on easy wing, floats in the sunshine, and overflows with song, then sinks, as if exhausted by his brilliant solo, to some swaying twig of the alder bushes. Nothing to hope? The maize leaves through all their close serried ranks are rustling with the promise of golden corn. Nothing to conquer? There are the brambles, the roughnesses, the inequalities, the chill damp earth, the whole teeming swamp-land.

I have tried to outline the surroundings and appointments of many a back country farmer of

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ

Was born in Chester county, Pennsylvania, March 12, 1822. His boyhood was passed among the scenes of country life until the age of seventeen, when, after the death of his father, he moved to Cincinnati, and obtained a situation in the studio of Clevinger the sculptor. Devoting himself to the fine arts, he soon obtained some local reputation as a portrait painter, and in 1841 removed to New York, with the intention of devoting himself to the art as a profession. He went within a year to Boston, where, in 1842-4 he published in the "Courier" a number of lyrics,

and in 1847 his first volume of Poems. It was followed by a second of Lays and Ballads in 1848, published at Philadelphia, whither he had removed in 1846. In 1848 he made a collection of specimens of the Female Poets of America, and has published an edition of his own verses, elegantly illustrated. He has passed some time in Europe with a view to the study of painting, and pursued that object with success in Rome till his return to Cincinnati in 1858.

phenomena of the seasons; the exhibitions of religious, political, and social life; the school; the camp meeting; the election; Independence Day, with an elevating love theme in the engagement of a village maiden to a poetic lover in Europe; the incidents of the voyage on the Ohio, with frequent episodes and patriotic aspirations, are all handled with an artist's eye for natural and moral beauty. The book presents a constant succession of truthful, pleasing images, in the healthy vein of the Goldsmiths and Bloomfields.

A choice edition of Mr. Read's poems, delicately illustrated by Kenny Meadows, was published 1y Delf and Trübner, in London, in 1852. In 1853 a new and enlarged edition appeared at Pliladelphia.

The characteristics we have noted describe Mr. Read's poems in his several volumes, which have exhibited a steady progress and development, in the confidence of the writer, in plain and simple objects, in strength of fancy and poetic culture.

A later production of Mr. Read, published in Philadelphia in 1855, during the author's residence in Italy, The New Pastoral, was the most elaborate of his compositions. It is a series of thirty-seven sketches, forming a volume of two hundred and fifty pages, mostly in blank verse. The thread which connects the chapters together is the emigration of a family group of Middle Pennsylvania to the Mississippi. The description of their early residence; the rural manners and

THE CLOSING SCENE.

Within this sober realm of leafless trees,
The russet year inhaled the dreamy air,
Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease,
When all the fields are lying brown and bare.
The gray barns, looking from their hazy hills
O'er the dim waters widening in the vales,
Sent down the air a greeting to the mills,
On the dull thunder of alternate flails.

All sights were mellowed, and all sounds subdued,
The hills seemed farther, and the streams sang

low;

As in a dream, the distant woodman hewed
His winter log with many a muffled blow.
Th' embattled forests, erewhile armed in gold,
Their banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood, like some sad beaten host of old,
Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue.

On slumb'rous wings the vulture tried his flight; The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's complaint;

And like a star slow drowning in the light,

The village church-vane seemed to pale and faint. The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew;

Crew thrice, and all was stiller than beforeSilent till some replying wanderer blew

His alien horn, and then was heard no more.

Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest
Made garrulous trouble round the unfledged

young;

And where the oriole hung her swaying nest
By every light wind like a censer swung;
Where sang the noisy masons of the eves,
The busy swallows circling ever near,
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes,

An early harvest and a plenteous year;
Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn,
To warn the reapers of the rosy east,

All now was songless, empty, and forlorn.
Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail,
And croaked the crow through all the dreary
gloom;

Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale,
Made echo to the distant cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers;
The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by
night;

The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers,
Sailed slowly by-passed noiseless out of sight.

Amid all this-in this most cheerless air,

And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there, Firing the floor with his inverted torch

Amid all this, the centre of the scene,

The white-haired matron, with monotonous tread Plied her swift wheel, and with her joyless mien Sat like a Fate, and watched the flying thread. She had known sorrow. He had walked with her, Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen crust, And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir

Of his black mantle trailing in the dust. While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom,

Her country summoned, and she gave her all, And twice war bowel to her his sable plume;

He gave the swords to rest upon the wall.
Re-gave the swords-but not the hand that drew,
And struck for liberty the dying blow;
Nor him, who to his sire and country true
Fell 'mid the ranks of the invading foe.

Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on,
Like the low murmurs of a hive at noon;
Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone
Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous

tune.

At last the thread was snapped, her head was bowed:

Life drooped the distaff through his hands serene; And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud, While Death and Winter closed the autumn scene.

PENNSYLVANIA-FROM THE NEW PASTORAL.

Fair Pennsylvania! than thy midland vales,
Lying 'twixt hills of green, and bound afar
By billowy mountains rolling in the blue,
No lovelier landscape meets the traveller's eye.
There Labour sows and reaps his sure reward,
And Peace and Plenty walk amid the glow
And perfume of full garners. I have seen
In lands less free, less fair, but far more known,
The streams which flow through history and wash
The legendary shores-and cleave in twain

Old capitols and towns, dividing oft
Great empires and estates of petty kings
And princes, whose domains full many a field,
Rustling with maize along our native West,
Out-measures and might put to shame! and yet
Nor Rhine, like Bacchus crowned, and reeling
through

His hills-nor Danube, marred with tyranny,
His dull waves moaning on Hungarian shores-
Nor rapid Po, his opaque waters pouring
Athwart the fairest, fruitfulest, and worst
Enslaved of European lands-nor Seine,
Winding uncertain through inconstant France-
Are half so fair as thy broad stream whose breast
Is gemmed with many isles, and whose proud name
Shall yet become among the names of rivers
A synonym of beauty-Susquehanna !

THE VILLAGE CHURCH-FROM THE NEW PASTORAL,

About the chapel door, in easy groups,
The rustic people wait. Some trim the switch,
While some prognosticate of harvests full,
Or shake the dubious head with arguments
Based on the winter's frequent snow and thaw,
The heavy rains, and sudden frosts severe.
Some, happily but few, deal scandal out,
With look askance pointing their victim. These

Are the rank tares in every field of grain-
These are the nettles stinging unaware-
The briars which wound and trip unheeding feet--
The noxious vines, growing in every grove!
Their touch is deadly, and their passing breath
Poison most venomous! Such have I known--
As who has not?-and suffered by the contact.
Of these the husbandman takes certain note,
And in the proper season disinters
Their baneful roots; and to the sun exposed,
The killing light of truth, leaves them to pine
And perish in the noonday! 'Gainst a tree,
With strong arms folded o'er a giant chest,
Stands Barton, to the neighbourhood chief smith;
His coat, unused to aught save Sunday wear,
Grown too oppressive by the morning walk,
Hangs on the drooping branch: so stands he oft
Beside the open door, what time the share
Is whitening at the roaring bellows' mouth.
There, too, the wheelwright-he, the magistrate-
In small communities a man of mark-
Stands with the smith, and holds such argument
As the unlettered but observing can;
Their theme some knot of scripture hard to solve.
And 'gainst the neighbouring bars two others fan,
Less fit the sacred hour, discussion hot
Of politics; a topic, which inflamed,
Knows no propriety of time or place.
There Oakes, the cooper, with rough brawny hand,
Descants at large, and, with a noisy ardour,
Rattles around his theme as round a cask;
While Hanson, heavy-browed, with shoulders bent,
Bent with great lifting of huge stones-for he
A mason and famed builder is-replies
With tongue as sharp and dexterous as his trowel,
And sentences which like his hammer fall,
Bringing the flinty fire at every blow!

But soon the approaching parson ends in peace
The wordy combat, and all turn within.
Awhile rough shoes, some with discordant creak,
And voices clearing for the psalm, disturb
The sacred quiet, till, at last, the veil

Of silence wavers, settles, falls; and then
The hymn is given, and all arise and sing.
Then follows prayer, which from the pastor's heart
Flows unpretending, with few words devout
Of humble thanks and askings; not, with lungs
Stentorian, assaulting heaven's high wall,
Compelling grace by virtue of a siege!
This done, with loving care he scans his flock,
And opes the sacred volume at the text.
Wide is his brow, and full of honest thought-
Love his vocation, truth is all his stock.
With these he strives to guide, and not perplex
With words sublime and empty, ringing oft
Most musically hollow. All his facts

Are simple, broad, sufficient for a world!

He knows them well, teaching but what he knows.
He never strides through metaphysic mists,

Or takes false greatness because seen through fogs;
Nor leads 'mid brambles of thick argument
Till all admire the wit which brings them through:
Nor e'er essays, in sermon or in prayer,

To share the hearer's thought; nor strives to make
The smallest of his congregation lose
One glimpse of heaven, to cast it on the priest.
Such simple course, in these ambitious times,
Were worthy imitation; in these days,

When brazen tinsel bears the palm from worth,
And trick and pertness take the sacred desk;
Or some coarse thunderer, armed with doctrines

new,

Aims at our faith a blow to fell an oxSwinging his sledge, regardless where it strikes, Or what demolishes--well pleased to win