Even Thine altars! there unharmed to stay, And when my captive pinions death shall free, Migrate to fairer regions far away, There fold my wings, and rest in peace, with Thee. =Deo data.= [Illustration: BENCH ENDS. LANDULPH CHURCH, CORNWALL.] OF THE IMPERIAL LINE. A leisurely sail from the beautiful, capacious, and almost land-locked harbour of Plymouth, up its main inlet--so curiously named the Hamoaze--to the picturesque precincts of the lower extremity of the Tamar, on a bright summer day with a gentle breeze, is an excursion in all respects most enjoyable. The harbour itself is studded over with craft of every variety and size, and sails spread of almost all hues, with here and there a fussy steam-boat ploughing its smoky way between them, while just inside, and tethered as it were to the dim line of the breakwater, are two or three dark grim-looking ironclads, lying as watch-dogs at its entrance. Sea-ward, is the broad, blue, open main; on the left, the tree-fringed heights of Mount-Edgcumbe; before us, the irregular, creek-broken shore of the "Three-Towns" jutting angularly into the deep, clear water, with houses crowding down to its rocky edge. There, too, in its centre, is one of the most classic spots on English soil--the Hoe--consecrated by endless historic national traditions, and made sacred beyond imagination's most inspired effort, by the tears, prayers, and hopes that have alternately taken their rise, and from its heights watched the silent sails pass on below to the distant ocean, bearing voyagers, the purpose of whose errands,--who may declare? On its pleasant open plateau, how diverse also have been the objects of those who from time to time have there assembled. Determined spirits with hands upon their sword-hilts, waiting and watching for the first glimpse of the van of the seven miles crescent-flotilla of the dark and hostile Spaniard, sweeping onward toward the shore, bearing the chains of slavery, spiritual and social, within their holds. Bands of bare-headed, bent-browed men, kneeling in reverent, prayerful conclave--the last home-office of their undaunted faith--ere they stepped on board the peaceful convoy, expatriated by conscience from their native soil, in search of a larger liberty, and destined to found in another hemisphere, an even greater England than they were leaving. Invader and emigrant, each shall we say, with purpose animated by soul-constraining religious convictions, but with ultimate aspirations, how different!