THE CATHEDRAL OF ROUEN.—I unexpectedly came out in front of the magnificent cathedral. If it had suddenly risen from the earth the effect would not have been more powerful and instantaneous. It completely overpowered my imagination; and I stood for a long time motionless, gazing entranced upon the stupendous edifice. I had before seen no specimen of Gothic architecture, save the remains of a little church at Havre, and the massive towers before me, the lofty windows of stained glass, the low portal, with its receding arches and rude statues, all produced upon my untrained mind an impression of awful sublimity. When I entered the church the impression was still more deep and solemn. It was the hour of vespers. The religious twilight of the place, the lamps that burned on the distant altar, the kneeling crowd, the tinkling bell, and the chant of the evening service that rolled along the vaulted roof in broken and repeated echoes, filled me with new and intense emotions. When I gazed on the stupendous architecture of the church, the huge columns that the eye followed up till they were lost in the gathering dusk of the arches above, the long and shadowy aisles, the statues of saints and martyrs that stood in every recess, the figures of armed knights upon the tombs, the uncertain light that stole through the painted windows of each little chapel, and the form of the cowled and solitary monk, kneeling at the shrine of his favorite saint, or passing between the lofty columns of the church—all I had read of, but had not seen—I was transported back to the Dark Ages, and felt as I can never feel again.—_Outre-Mer._ Bear through sorrow, wrong and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth. —_Maidenhood._ As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain. If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility. We often excuse our want of philanthropy by giving the name of fanaticism to the more ardent zeal of others. [End of Required Reading for January.] NIGHT. By A. ST. J. A. I saw the sun sink slowly in the west, Painting the cloudless skies with liquid gold; I saw the angel of the night unfold His dewy wings, and lowly o’er his breast Bow down his head in meek humility, As one who works his Master’s wise behest. I saw the moon in radiant garb uprise And sail majestic o’er the tranquil skies, Like some bright vessel on a waveless sea. And as I gazed, a sense of perfect rest Stole o’er me, and the sorrows that infest The life of all no longer burdened me, But, with the light, fled peacefully away.