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. base, and flung the spray in showers over their edge a hundred feet above the raging deep below. The party had stood sometime, however, on the summit of the rocks before the anxious lookers out could distinguish any thing through the storm, although they strained their eyes to the utmost in the direction from which the sounds of the cannon proceeded. At length a light was discernible through the gloom, and directly a dim shadowy object, gradually assuming the outlines of a ship flying before the tempest, started out of the misty distance. For one moment she was seen driving up toward the spectators. That moment, seeming to them an age, was spent in a breathless horror that did not admit of words. Each one involuntarily clenched his hands tighter together, and gazed with straining eyes on the powerless craft that was sweeping onward with such mad velocity to the cliffs at his feet. On-on she came, driving amid the white foam and the whither tempest. A moment more and there was a crash, followed by a shriek that rose even above the storm, and froze the very hearts of the listeners. It ceased and the hurricane alone was heard.

"It is all over," said one of the listeners. " God have mercy on the souls who have gone to their last account." "Amen !" said another ; and again a breathless silence followed, during which each spectator listened to hear if there might be any survivor of the wreck. At length one spoke. "There was a cry ?" he said. "It sounds like the wail of a child." " From what direction does it come?" "Just beneath the cliffs-but now I lose it." "Hark ! there it is again." 66 Aye ! and it is a woman's voice." There was no doubt any longer that a living being was crying for succor from the foot of the cliffs, and a dozen lanterns were immediately lowered over the edge. The violence of the gale dashed them against the rocks and broke several, but the momentary light they shed on the scene below, revealed to the spectators a white figure which they knew at once to be that of a female, clinging to the rocks, and drenched with every wave. For an instant, and an instant only, by the light of a lantern lowered farther down the precipice, but almost immediately shattered to pieces, the face of the female had been seen cast upward in earnest supplication, and those who caught a momentary glimpse of it said that it was that of a young and beautiful girl. But what could be done for her ? The frenzy of the gale forbade any attempt to rescue her by descending the cliff ; and it was certain that she could not live until morning exposed to the driving snow, the intense cold, the washing of the surf, and the fierce eddies of the gale around the precipice. The spectators looked at each other in dismay. And when, in a lull of the hurricane, that cry of agony VOL. II.-3

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came again to their ears, a cold shiver ran through their Meantime, the cliffs were becoming crowded with people, who, apprized of the wreck by the signal guns she had fired, poured forth from their houses to render what assistance was possible to the sufferers. A fire was soon kindled on the verge of the precipice, for, although at first the hissing snow-flakes almost extinguished the flames, the efforts of the warm -hearted adventurers at length fanned the fire into vigorous existence, and the lurid volume streamed up steadily into the storm, or flared, to and fro, in the stronger puffs of the tempest. As the fire flung its light across the countenances of the group which had gathered around it, there might be traced, in every face, an expression of the most anxious concern, while each spectator gazed out toward the ocean, striving to catch, through the fleecy storm, a sight of the wreck, or peered down cautiously over the edge of the cliff to discover the exact position of the sufferer below, and see whether or not any succor ❘ could be afforded her. During all this time persons had been arriving at the scene of disaster, bringing ropes, tackle, and other appliances by which aid might be ren❘dered to the crew and passengers of the dismantled ship. At length the fire, fed by renewed fuel, blazed high up into the air, and flinging its ruddy blaze far and wide around, enabled the spectators to catch momentary gleams of the wreck. She appeared to be a ship of heavy tonnage, and had ran so high up on the rocks that she stuck there as if impaled, her stern falling off seaward, while her bows overhung the boiling vortex on the land side of the sharp rock on which she lay. The racking of the sea had by this time broken her hull in two, and the forward part, crowded with living beings, fell away into the gulf below, just as the ruddy blaze of the flames enabled the spectators to catch their first glimpse of the wreck. It was a heart-rending sight. At the very moment when the beacon fire informed the sufferers that succor was at hand, just when hope began again to brighten in their darkened bosoms, they were swept away into the raging vortex, powerless and hopeless, before the agonized eyes of those who were powerless as the victims ! One wild shriek rose over all the uproar of the gale-and then a silence, if silence there could be amid that hurricane, fell on the scene. "God Almighty," said the voice of the pastor of the neighboring village, “ have mercy on their souls—surely he is the Lord, for the deep owneth his power !" That deep hush, unbroken save by this ejaculation, continued for several minutes, during which every eye was strained to detect, if possible, a single struggling form in the wild vortex below. But whether the faintness of the light forbade it, or whether the sufferers were confounded with the foam below, not a solitary living being was ever after seen of all those who had
 * frames.


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 table top—evidence of my mental state, and perhaps of theirs, too.

We sat, stared, concentrating for almost a full hour. And then

There it was, quivering as from an electric current but clear in every detail. I wondered if the thing was solid, a hollow shell, or whether the vague rudiments of a mechanism were hidden there inside—distorted, perhaps, by minds unfamiliar with watch-works. I wondered

Then—click! Chet had pressed the camera release, and registered on the sensitive film whatever really lay on that bare table top.

The sound was loud in the silent room, so loud that it startled me, and made the watch-image quiver and lose its shape. Slowly it dissolved as Perry leaned back, rubbing his smarting eyes and stretching tense muscles.

Chet stood up dizzily, taking up the camera with great care. I felt rather than saw him make a bee-line for the closet; heard the door shut behind him

It was then that the roaring began in my head, deafening me, blinding me. I could see that door across the room, looming large and forbidding as the door to the death-chamber of a prison. Behind it a man was moving swiftly, dipping a section of film into a pan of acid—and thereby, perhaps, solving the eternal mystery of Creation.

And men would be gods, pitting their brain-power one against another—creating images that did not exist in the normal scheme of things, creating even women that did not exist—until no one could tell the true from the false, and madness would sweep the world

Terror shook me like an ague—a blind sick terror of space and mystery and things beyond our ken. In that moment it seemed that Boyton and Tom stood beside me. I thought I could see them, waving frantic arms and screaming something at me, shoving me toward that monstrous door

I heard someone—Perry—cry out:

"Joe—what's the matter, Joe? You look so—wait, Joe! Take it easy, old boy; you're—Chet! Chet! He's gone mad! Look out!"

Vaguely I remembered picking up a chair, feather-light, and raising it above my head, and smashing with it—smashing at a monster wearing a white mask made up to resemble Perry Lester's face.

Then the huge door burst open, and I was smashing again, wielding the chair with no effort, until a second fiend, masquerading as my old friend, Ray Chetham, went down like a felled ox.

Something was in his hand—a piece of film, ready for developing, but ruined now by exposure to the light

That's about all, Sergeant. You'll find the bodies in that second-floor room, in the old vacant house on Beecher. I came straight here, the minute I realized there was nothing I could do for poor old Perry and Chet—after I came to myself, you understand, I saw what I had done.

I thought of suicide at first, longed for it, bending over them and crying like a baby. Old Chet and Perry were more like my brothers than friends I couldn't stand the thought of what I'd done

Then I knew that suicide was the easy way. What I had to do was give myself up, so that I could tell someone about our experiments before they do—whatever the state is going to do to me.

Someone else may want to try what we tried—a scientific mind, not a bunch of untrained helpless laymen like the five of us. Someone not afraid to find out what was on that undeveloped film.

I don't want to know, myself. I hope to God nobody ever finds out!

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. of shelter for his companion until means should be found to raise her to the summit of the cliff. With great difficulty, and aided by the rope from above, he succeeded in elevating her to a narrow shelf of the rock some ten feet higher up the face of the cliff, where, however exposed to the driving sleet and the impetuosity of the wind, she would at least be safe from the showers of foam that deluged the rock below.

" Oh ! can I ever sufficiently thank you ?" said the grateful girl, " your kindness may be in vain-but God will bless you !"

Her companion made no reply, but as he looked at her shivering form, he saw that her exposure had almost exhausted her, and that it was with an effort that she had spoken. "Droop not, dear lady ," he said, "I see that they are lowering down cloaks in which to wrap yourself, and keep out this pitiless storm. If we can only sustain Ourselves here for an hour longer we can reach the summit. The gale must lull by that time." She made no answer except by a desponding shake of her head. The bundle was by this time swinging overhead, and watching a chance, her companion succeeded in catching and disentangling it from the rope. He now busied himself in wrapping up the form of the chilled and exhausted girl, and, for a while, she revived ; but it soon became evident that her fragile constitution was giving way under her sufferings. This the young man saw with agony. Oh ! how he wished that the ledge on which they stood could have afforded them a fire, how he prayed that the storm would abate in order that she might be raised to the summit of the cliff. Happily he had provided himself, ere he began his descent with restoratives, and these he now applied freely to the sinking girl in his arms. He clasped her small fair hand, he made her drink of the life-giving liquid, he besought her to attempt to walk to and fro, supported by him, on the narrow ledge of rock on which they stood. By these efforts he succeeded in partially reviving her, and, at the end of half an hour, saw with a joy unspeakable that the tempest had begun to lull, and in a few minutes as if miraculously the snow ceased and the wind died almost wholly away. The youth now gave the signal to those above, and soon saw the chair descending. How he trembled with eagerness, during the minutes that elapsed ere it reached the rock, lest the gale should burst forth with renewed fury. At length the chair swung on the ledge where they stood. Not a moment was to be lost. Exhorting his companion to rally her energies for this last effort, he lashed her firmly in her seat, and seizing the rope by which the ascent of the chair was to be guided, gave the signal. The attempt was perilous to the last degree, but they knew that it was the only chance for life left. With tearful eyes his companion took leave of him, but he assuming

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a cheerfulness he scarcely felt, bid her retain her presence of mind, and all would go well. " Oh ! it is only for you I fear now. How can you reach the summit when there will be no one below to guide your ascent ?" "The God who preserved me once, will preserve me, if he sees fit, again. Ere ten minutes I shall be safe at your side." With a beating heart the young man gazed at the dizzy course of the chair, and once or twice he trembled violently as he saw it, despite all he could do, swinging in dangerous proximity to a jutting rock. At length he beheld it reach the level of the cliff-he saw it grasped by two or three strong arms-it was drawn inwardand then he knew that his late companion was safe. We will not analyze his feelings at that moment, but they were certainly as deep as if he had known that lovely creature during a long life-time- so true is it that an hour of fearful peril spent together, breaks down barriers betwixt two hearts which otherwise it might take years to remove. In a few minutes the rope again descended, and the young adventurer, by incredible exertions reached the summit of the cliff, without injury. The moment his feet touched the cliff a dozen hands grasped his own, and a long loud shout of enthusiastic welcome pealed to the sky. But the first thing his eye sought was the rescued girl, who, deaf to every entreaty, had watched from the top of the cliff until she saw her preserver safe. Then she fell back exhausted into the arms of a kind-hearted dame, who had left her home and hurried to the rocks the instant she heard that the sufferer under the cliff was a woman. The rescued girl proved to be a young lady, the who was returning from her education in Europe with her governess. Her preserver was a naval officer, a lieutenant in the revenue cutter, which, but a few days before, had run into the little roadstead, a mile or two from the scene of the wreck. It was in endeavoring to make that anchorage that the ill-fated ship had come ashore, when of all her freight only this fair girl had been saved. Need we recount the gratitude of the father when his only child was placed in his arms ? Need we say how often that child thought of her preserver, or how the young lieutenant found her at length necessary to his happiness ? The grateful father deemed it the happiest that of her preserver, and gave her away at the altar to one who, by risking his life for her when she was a stranger to him, had proved that he would be a protector to her in after life when she was known and loved.
 * daughter of an opulent merchant in a neighboring city,
 * day of his life when he placed his daughter's hand in


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 affairs. The sun which rises and sets, the moon which changes, the tides which come and go:—what do they care? Nothing; and what is more, sacrifice to them what you may, you cannot get them to care about you and your affairs, and so the savage turns his attention to those other spirits that do take only too much interest, as is proved by those unexpected catastrophes; and, as their actions show, these spirits are all malignant, so he deals with them just as he would deal with a bad man whom he was desirous of managing. He flatters and fees them, he deprives himself of riches to give to them as sacrifices, believing they will relish it all the more because it gives him pain of some sort to give it to them. He holds that they think it will be advisable for them to encourage him to continue the giving by occasionally doing what he asks them. Naturally he never feels sure of them; he sees that you may sacrifice to a god for years, you may wrap him up—or more properly speaking, the object in which he resides—in your only cloth on chilly nights while you shiver yourself; you and your children, and your mother, and your sister and her children, may go hungry that food may rot upon his shrine; and yet, in some hour of dire necessity, the power will not come and save you—because he has been lured away by some richer gifts than yours.

You white men will say, "Why go on believing in him then?" but that is an idea that does not enter the African mind. I might just as well say "Why do you go on believing in the existence of hansom cabs," because one hansom cab driver malignantly fails to take you where you want to go, or fails to arrive in time to catch a train you wished to catch.

The African fully knows the liability of his fetish to fail, but he equally fully knows its power. One, to me, grandly tragic instance of this I learnt at Opobo. There was a very great Fetish doctor there, universally admired and trusted, who lived out on the land at the mouth of the Great River. One day he himself fell sick, and he made ju-ju against the sickness; but it held on, and he grew worse. He made more ju-ju of greater power, but again in vain, and then he made the greatest ju-ju man can make, and it availed nought, and he knew he was dying; and so, with his remaining strength, he


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 sonality of Francesco Crispi, imbued as he was with the spirit of the country's greatness, whereas the little men who with so much acrimony fought his ideals, have been completely forgotten. Who now remembers Brofferio, who in the Sub-Alpine Parliament hurled his bitter invectives against Cavour? Who remembers that little man who in those days managed to fill the papers with his outcries and who appeared in the guise of a defender of freedom crushed by the aristocratic Cavour?

The opponents of the present Government, who regard thenselves, I know not why, as the spiritual successors of Cavour, tell us that he would have disapproved of the present state of things. This method of making the dead talk is indeed too convenient and somewhat childish. I certainly do not. profess to know what Cavour would have done or said in the present circumstances. He could not, however, have failed to observe the work accomplished by the Fascist Government in two short years for the reconstruction the country, nor how much has been achieved to revive national idealism, nor to note that, whereas on the one side men are acting with a sense of rectitude


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.

and sounds. “To spend an honr with re Sowc-Wanr- reus of Americé’is to hold delightfufeommunion with some of the sweetest ministers unto Poesy, From a crowd of Iyries on our table we shull sclect a few of th most choice.

Foremost in the group, both on account .of its merit and the potiod at which it was written, we quote the exquisite song of Dr. Shaw. This gentleman died in 1809, and the song that follows was written many years before. It has touches in it that equal Shakypeare, and is, perhaps, surpassed by few lyrics of the kind in the language.

sono,

Woo has robb'd the acean eavo, ‘To tinge thy lips with coral hue? Who from India’s distant wave, For thee, those pearly treasures drow? Who, from yonder urient uky, ‘Stole the morning of thine eye?

‘Thousand charms, thy form te deck, For sea, and varth, and air are torn; Rases oom upow thy check, ‘On thy breath their Cragrance bame. Guard thy boxom feom the day, Lest thy snows should melt away.

But one charm remains behind, — - : Which mute earth can ne'er impart Nor in ocean wilt thou find, Nor in the circling air « heart: Fairest, wouldst thou perfect be, ‘Take, Q take that heart from ine.

This, however, is the only wong of high merit written by Dr. Shaw, and as n song-writer be is decidedly infe- riot to Pinkney, who, by hia fertility o3 well a¢ by the high merit of his songs, has raised himself to a pinnacle where, aa yet, he sits witout «rival. Pinkney died in 1828, at the early age of twenty-six, but be hes left behind him several pieggs which will, if possible, outlive tho language. Ho had such of the exquisite simplicity and high finish combined—that rare union of the two highest merits of a song—which distinguished the old writers, Few poete have equalled*Pinkney in their lighter pieces, Here’ ia one of remarkable simplicity, yet, when you come to examine it, hug claborate in every part. Mark bow exquisite is the turn uf the sen- timent—and yet with what an easy grace it ja managed!

sonc,

We break the glass, whose sacred wine, ‘To some beloved health we drain. Lest future pledges, teas divine, Should e’er the hallow'd toy profane; ‘And thus I broke a heart that pour'd Kis tide of feelings out For thee, In deaughts, by atter-times deplored, ‘Yet dear to memory.

Bat atill the old, imipassion'd was And habits of my min! rema

And atill unhappy fig displays ‘Thine image ehamber'd in my bra

And still it looks as when the houra ‘Went by like flights of singing birds,

Or that sof chaiu of spoken ilowers, And airy geins—thy words.

There is w very Ge song of five stanzas, entitled “ A Health,” but it must give place to that most beautiful of all Pinkney’s shorter poems, “A Picture Song.” We know of no song of equol length, writteu hy any Ame~ rican poet, whiclgcan at all compere with this inimitable piece; and we might search long among the writings of England's sweetest bards before we. could discover any thing to equal it.

aA PICTURE sone.

How may thie little tablet feign ‘The features of a taco,

Which o'er informa with loveliness, Its proper share of »pace;

Or human hands on ivory, Enable us te see

‘The charms, thut all must wonder at, ‘Thou work of gods in thee?

But yet,'rethinks, that sunny smilo Familiar stories toils,

Aud I should know those placid eyes, ‘Teo shaded erystal wells

Nor can my aoul, the litauer’s art Attesting with’a sigh,

Forget the blood that deck'd thy cheek, ‘AG rosy clouds the sky,

‘They conld not semble what thou art, fore oxcollent than fai Ax soft us sleep or pity ‘And pure as mountain-air; But here are common, earthly hues, ‘To such ou aspect wrought, ‘That nove, save thine, ean seem so like ‘The beautiful of thought.

‘The song I sing, thy likeness like,

Ts painful mimicry + OF something better, which ie now

‘A memory to me,

Who have ipon life's frozen sea Arrived the iey spot,

Where man’s magnetic (clings alow ‘Their guiding task forgot.

‘The sportive hopes, that used to chase ‘Their shifung shadows on,

Like chilirou playing in the wun, ‘Are gune—forever gone;

Anil ana careless, sullen peace, My double-fruated wind,

Like Janua when his gates were shut, Looks forward and behind,

Arotto placed his harp, of old, A while upon a stone,

Which has resounded since, when struck, A brouking hiarp-string’s tone ;

And thus may heart, though wholly now, From early soitnoss free,

If couch’d, will yield the masic yet,” It frst received of thee.

‘We cannot disiniss Pinkney without giting place to hie “ Serenade,” a vong which is oply not faultless, be- cause it is so studded with’ beauties, so crowded with brrilliants, that the eye is dazzled in contemplating it,

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 for constructive objects, on the other are leagued together all the enemies of constituted order, associated with other individuals whom unsatisfied ambitions, personal resentment and political failure have linked together in a hybrid and unholy alliance. On the one hand we have productive activity for the reconstruction of the country, on the other negative and impotent criticism. Let us then not allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by a torrent of rhetorical declamation; let us rather consider the situation in relation to the objects to be achieved and accept the means which are necessary for their achievement.

The press is certainly a powerful weapon, but for this very reason it must be regulated. If it degenerates, if factiousness jeopardizes the security of the State, the peace and credit of the country, it is the right, nay more, the duty, of those who are in power and on whom the responsability for the fate of the nation devolves, to undertake this task, even though it be a thankless one, on the condition, of course, that their action be based on legitimite rules, i. e. on the law, because it would not be admissible that in order to repress one abuse they were to commit another.


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. When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is pour'd, And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up From each lip that is wet with the dew ofthe cup, What name on the brimmer floats oftener there, Or is whisper'd more warmly, than ROSALIE CLARE ?

They may talk of the land of the olive and vine, Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine ; Of the houris that gladden the East with their smiles, Where the sea's studded over with green summer isles ; But what flower of far-away clime can compare With the blossom of ours-bright ROSALIE CLARE ?

Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair? Let him meet but the glances of ROSALIE CLARE ! Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on her form, And if, seeing and hearing, his soul do not warm , Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air Than that which is bless'd by sweet ROSALIE CLARE.

Gen. Morris has a wide spread popularity as a song writer ; but in all the higher elements of the vocation he is inferior to Hoffman, and immeasurably below Pinkney. His most favorite songs have won fame more on account of the theme chosen by the poet, or from the music to which they were linked, than because of their literary merit. "Woodman spare that Tree !" is a familiar instance in support of our remark. Still the songs of Gen. Morris are highly meritorious, and perhaps oftener found in our parlors than those of more literary worth. One of the most spirited of his songs is " Land Ho !" LAND но ! FILL high the brimmer!-the land is in sight, We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night : The cold, cheerless ocean in safety we ' ve pass'd, And the warm, genial earth glads our vision at last ; In the land of the stranger true hearts we shall find, To soothe us in absence of those left behind. Then fill high the brimmer ! the land is in sight, We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night? Fill high the brimmer ! -till morn we'll remain , Then part in the hope to meet one day again, Round the hearth-stone of home, in the land of our birth, The holiest spot on the face of the earth ! Dear country! our thoughts are more constant to thee Than the steel to the star or the stream to the sea. Then fill up the brimmer ! the land is in sight, We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night !

Fill high the brimmer !-the wine-sparkles rise Like tears, from the fountain of joy, to the eyes! May rain-drops that fall from the storm-clouds of care, Melt away in the sun-beaming smiles of the fair! Drink deep to the chime of the nautical bells, To woman,-GOD bless her, wherever she dwells! Then fill high the brimmer! the land is in sight, We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night !

if it were some strain, " once heard in heaven, now heard again." FLORENCE VANE.

I LOVED thee long and dearly, Florence Vane ; My life's bright dream and early Hath come again ; I renew, in my fond vision , My heart's dear pain, My hopes and thy derision , Florence Vane. The ruin, lone and hoary, The ruin old Where thou didst hark my story, At even told,That spot-the hues Elysian Of sky and plainI treasure in my vision, Florence Vane. Thou wast lovelier than the roses In their prime; Thy voice excell'd the closes Of sweetest rhyme ; Thy heart was as a river Without a main. Would I had loved thee never, Florence Vane! But, fairest, coldest, wonder! Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod underAlas, the day! And it boots not to remember Thy disdainTo quicken love's pale ember, Florence Vane.

The lilies of the valley By young graves weep, The daisies love to dally Where maidens sleep ; May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane Where thine earthly part is lying. Florence Vane! Woodworth's " Bucket," (it is the best thing he has written) is known from the highlands of Aroostok to the lagunes of Louisiana. We need scarcely quote a song so extensively known. Often have we heard it away off' in some quiet valley of the mountain, where strangers are rarely seen. A lyric which can thus penetrate into the hearts of the people is one of high merit in its way, although it may not be distinguished by all that exquisite finish which will commend it to the man of taste, and ensure it immortality. And in this song it is its truth to nature which has made it such a favorite. Who cannot recall the fidelity of these lines ? THE BUCKET.

We must hurry on, however, for to enumerate all the popular songs of Gen. Morris would exclude his cotemporaries from a place in our gallery. We come now to the " Florence Vane" of P. P. Coke. Beautiful exceedingly is this song, as a dewdrop in the bosom of the violet, and lovelier and more false than the Aphrodite must have been she who inspired it. It lingers in our memory with a strange tenacity, as

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood! When fond recollection presents them to view ; The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-cover'd bucket which hung in the well.


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. WORLD OF FASHION.

THE UNKNOWN PORTRAIT.

BY MRS. M. V. SPENCER.

CHAPTER I.

"How beautiful !" involuntarily exclaimed Edward Moreton, as he paused by a portrait at the annual exhibition of the——

It was the portrait of a young and beautiful girl, painted in a style that was worthy of the old masters. She could not have been more than eighteen, for her face still wore that expression of sunny girlish happiness, which a few years' contact with the world changes into a more sedate, but not perhaps less lovely expression. The artist had handled his subject admirably, so that, at first, the eye saw only the face of the young girl, although on a closer scrutiny you noticed that she held a rose to her bosom, and that the drapery, hands and other minutiæ of the picture were delineated with surpassing skill. But it was the face, after all, which riveted the attention. Beautiful indeed was that countenance- beautiful as a dream of heaven. The eyes were large and dark, and shone on you from the depths of her pure soul with an expression of the most winning softness. The hair was of the darkest brown, modestly curtained on either side of the face, and apparently gathered up behind into a Grecian knot. The forehead was smooth and polished like marble, and the chin and throat as delicately chiselled as if a Canova had modelled them. The whole character of the face was that of loveliness in its most winning form. Moreton stood, for a minute entranced, drinking in the beauty of that angelic face. At length he turned to the catalogue, eager to see to whom the portrait belonged. The artist's name was a new one, but the picture was for sale. Again Moreton turned to the portrait, and gazed on that bewitching face. Strange emotions took possession of his soul as he looked. Was he in love, and with a portrait ? Whatever was the character of his feelings, an ungovernable curiosity to learn who the original might be took possession of him, and he determined to see the artist, and learn something of this beautiful unknown. But when he applied to the door-keeper to ascertain the artist's residence, he was informed that the painter had gone to Europe since the completion of the portrait, and that no one could tell who had been the original.

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the portrait was an ideal or a real one, he soon agreed for the price. "The picture will be sent home," said the doorkeeper, " as soon as the exhibition closes. I congratulate you on having become the owner of the finest piece this year on the walls." It was strange what an ungovernable passion for that picture took possession of Moreton ! Daily he visited the exhibition and spent hours before the portrait, gazing on it as a worshipper gazes on the face of a saint. To his eye, indeed, that countenance was the impersonation of all loveliness, and he never tired of looking on the smooth pearly cheek, on the white and classic forehead, on the bold sweep of the pencilled brows, and on those dark deep eyes so full of all the finest and holiest susceptibilities of woman. Awake or in his dreams that face was before him. Often, when far away, he would shut his eyes to call up to his imagination more forcibly that glorious countenance ; and then would he dream, in many a wild reverie, of the possibility of meeting, at some when, at length, the picture came home, he would sit for hours, all unconscious of what was going on around him, gazing on the portrait. He seemed to live for nothing else. In that picture he saw expressed the ideal beauty for which he had thirsted from a boy ; and he secretly determined that he would discover the original, if indeed one there was, or die worshipping a shadow. But all his efforts were unavailing. The artist had died soon after reaching Europe, and the letter of enquiry which Moreton had sent was returned unopened. No one of his acquaintance had ever seen a face bearing the slightest resemblance to the portrait. Moreton's friends, at length, began to regard him as suffering under a monomania on this point, and his persevering enquiries met thereafter only a pitying shake of the head or a contemptuous laugh.
 * future day, the living counterpart to this face. And

CHAPTER 11.

In one of our eastern cities, on a cold and snowy winter night, a little group might have been seen gathered around the flickering embers of a fire, in a crazy tenement on the outskirts of the town. A somewhat aged lady, and a boy about ten years old, sat in front of the chimney-place. The third individual was a young girl, who might have numbered twenty years. She sat on a low stool, on one side of the fire, holding a piece " There has been a general enquiry," said the door- of needle-work close to the dying embers, as if she was keeper, "but no one knows. The artist was always a endeavoring to sew by their feeble light. The face of reserved man, and lived in New York. He took great that young girl was one of extraordinary beauty. The care with this picture : I rather think it's altogether an eyes were dark and full ; the brow had the whiteness idcal face." of Parian marble ; and the thick brown tresses were Disappointed in his enquiries, Moreton was about modestly curtained down either side of her face and turning away when he recollected that the picture was gathered up in a knot behind. Her attire, though clean for sale, and resolving to possess himself of it, whether and neat, was of the coarsest character, as were also the VOL. II.-4


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 But, the critics observe, the Constitution is being violated. It is difficult to conceive of a more inconsistent charge, or one which is, moreover, based on more inadequate good faith. It is strange indeed to find those very people—Socialists and such-like—who want to destroy the bourgeois State and subvert far more than the Constitution, filled with touching tenderness for that same Constitution! Even among the Parliamentary Oppositions this pretended scandal is but an insincere pretext, for you will remember that it is from that very quarter that after the war some of the most radical proposals of Constitutional reform emanated. It was these same Constitutional zealots who then proposed that the King should be deprived of the prerogative of declaring war, that the composition of the Senate should be reformed by suppressing the King's right to appoint the Senators and making them elective. The proportional system was introduced into the elections, thereby radically altering the existing representative system based on majority elections, that is to say, substituting for a system based on a majority governing indepenently of and if need be against the


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conversation, " you are crazy. Refuse Miss Oxley's hand, with two hundred thousand dollars, when you know you can win her- and all on account of this strange whim. In love with a portrait ! I used to think, my dear nephew, you had sense ; but this is a proof of your utter insanity."

"But would you have me marry where I do not love ?"

Now Mrs. Templeton, although a woman of the world, and placing perhaps too great a value on riches, had a good heart. This question for a moment staggered her. But at length she answered frankly. "Certainly not. But then Miss Oxley surely is a loveable girl, and one any gentleman could love." "Here you mistake, my dear aunt. Miss Oxley is a very sweet creature, I confess ; and yet she does not approach my beau ideal. I cannot, therefore, love her. But, in this mysterious portrait, I behold every thing I could look for, since, not only does the mere physical beauty of the face equal my beau ideal, but there is all that evidence of a pure and sensitive, yet lofty soul stamped there, which I should desire. The original of that portrait, I know, is the noblest of her sex ." 66 Why what a rhapsody !" said the aunt with a quiet smile, " but seriously, I should like to see this portrait. Why," she asked a little archly, " didn't you bring it with you ? It's not quite two hundred miles betwixt city and city ; and then, you know, I could have hung it up in my parlor, and advertised all my friends to search for the original—” It is impossible to say how long Mrs. Templeton would have continued in this half teasing way, but at this instant the street bell rang. "Who can it be, at this hour and on such a night ?" said she, breaking short off in her conversation. "Miss Beckett has brought her work home," said the footman, " and she would prefer hearing your opinion of it, if you can afford her the leisure." "Poor child !" said Mrs. Templeton, in a tone of commisseration, " send her up at once. She doubtless wants the money," continued the lady, " or she would scarcely have walked here through all this pelting storm . And she has seen better days too, or I am mistaken. Keep your seat, Edmund,” she said, as her nephew rose to leave, " you can throw yourself in that chair where you won't be noticed ; and besides I wish you to see my pretty sempstress," she continued in a gayer tone, "for I'll stake my new ponies against your hunter that she's quite as beautiful as your portrait. Indeed I know no one who equals her in loveliness, and you are aware there are not a few pretty girls among my acquaintance." Edmund sank to his seat just as the door opened. Not wishing to intimidate the visitor, he did not look up until she had taken her seat and began conversing with Mrs. Templeton. At length, however, he cast his

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eyes toward her. The young lady wore a close cottage bonnet, and as her side was turned toward him he could not see her face. But he noticed that her form was one of exquisite proportions, and that her foot and hand were of the most delicate mould and size. He thought too that he had never heard a voice half so musical ; and when he noticed the thin shawl which she wore, he could scarcely restrain his feelings. At this instant the young lady, not aware that a third person was in the room, turned her face in his direction. He started and uttered involuntarily an exclamation of delight ; for there, exact in every feature and in the expression of the face, was the living counterpart of the UNKNOWN PORTRAIT ! Yes ! it was indeed the beautiful original who sat before him in her surpassing loveliness, seeming more lovely to Moreton's eyes from the obvious penury against which she so nobly strove. We leave our readers to imagine the sequel. The agitation of Moreton forbade concealment, and his words, apparently so extraordinary to the young lady, but which were quickly understood by Mrs. Templeton, soon brought matters to a crisis. She took on herself the explanation, and with the tact and delicacy of her sex, acquainted the agitated girl with sufficient to account for her nephew's conduct. We may suppose that the little family slept, that night, under a warmer roof than they had been accustomed to for many a long day ; but in this matter, with an equal regard to tact and delicacy, Mrs. Templeton only appeared. Alice could not long resist the earnest pleadings of Moreton. One who had loved her so long and faithfully in secret could not fail to make her happy ; and besides her own heart, when she began to see her suitor's good qualities, pleaded powerfully in his favor. Before spring had ushered in her flowers, Alice was the happy wife of Moreton. The portrait, which had first made her known to our hero, had been painted just before Mr. Beckett's failure, and when he became bankrupt he had been unable to pay the artist for the picture. It was sent to the exhibition to be sold ; but as this was in another city no one knew who was represented by the UNKNOWN PORTRAIT.

THE DEATH BED. HER sufferings ended with the day, Yet lived she at its close, And breathed the long, long night away In statue-like repose.

But when the sun in all his state Illumed the eastern skies, She passed through glory's morning gate ALDRICH And walked in Paradise !


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 minority, the creation of groups which contributed so largely to the dangerous instability of the Government. I need not trouble you with a list of all the Constitutional rules which have fallen into disuetude or have been definitely reformed by new laws since 1848, as you will find them in any text-book of Constitutional law.

But what are these pretended changes in the Constitution, about which so much commotion is being made? A Commission has been appointed composed of men known for the soundness of their views and who are certainly not likely to subvert the world. In any case it is merely a committee of study, and its terms of reference are to make proposals. When it sends in its report we shall examine these proposals; they will then have to be submitted to the Government, and before they become law Parliament must vote them and the King give his Royal assent to them. Even if we wished to judge not facts but intentions, there is nothing more definite to go upon than the repeated assurances of the Prime Minister that he intends to respect the main features of the Constitution, even if certain changes might appear worthy of


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. Ah !-well, my friend, I was about to tell thee -just at this critical moment, when I beheld the dark muzzles of the guns slowly rising to the proper level, and in another moment a dozen shots would have whistled through my brain-to the surprise of myself and every one else, a young girl ran forward, and breaking through the ranks of the stern soldiery, grasped the officer convulsively round the waist, and besought him to spare my life ; these were her words- Brother ! oh, my brother !pardon him-oh, for mercy sake do not take his lifedid you not hear him say, Mother ! -yes, he has a mother-you too, have a mother. What would thy mother feel, if she were thus to lose thee? She would die ; and would you kill his mother ? Look !-see ! he is bleeding-fainting ; there, I see you relent, good brother ! -dear brother ! heaven has moved thy heart- go, he can no longer harm any of our people. Oh ! how he bleeds ! -mercy- mercy ! Leave him - oh, leave him to die !'-Mon brave ! excuse these tears, they are the first I have shed since that memorable morning. Well- you should have seen the dark looks of the soldiery-the grim smile-the knitted brows relax-the convulsive clutching at the muskets- aye ! men who had never shed a tear, perhaps, before, shed them then-I shan't easily forget it, comrade ; so, to cut short the story, the girl melted her brother's heart, which, being of iron, I'll leave you to guess was no easy task, and which feat nothing but a woman's tears could have accomplished. Oh! the efficacy of woman's tears. The soldiers were drawn off, and I was left, not to die-as advised by my fair preserver-but by her assistance I reached a cottage, where my wounds were dressed ; she dressed them-ah ! there was magic in her touch ; beautiful creature ! how she watched me for weeks with the tenderest care. Aye, and she even found out to love me, too-yes, man, she loved me ; and do you think that I could look upon so much excellence with an indifferent eye, do you ? or an indifferent heart?"

“I should think a man callous, indeed, under such circumstances," replied his companion. 66 Callous ! -a brute man ; mine's not a brute nature, no -I loved her, then -aye, with my whole soul I loved her. You know what succeeded to the events of that campaign. My military duties called me away ; I have been absent five years. In yonder village, then, I left all my hopes ; I swore to love her-and I have kept my word, and of my heart its faith. On, then, comrade ; let's to the goal of my hopes, if you value the happiness of a friend ; I see you sympathize with me." The two friends, after the lapse of half an hour, arrived at the entrance of the village. Ludovic pressed on with eager haste, literally dragging his companion after him, until they came to a certain spot indicated by our hero, where stood a cottage, beautifully situated in the midst of a clump of tall pines, whose dark tops cast down upon

the simple dwelling beneath a rich vernal coloring, that gave to the scene an effect beautiful in the extreme. The two officers entered by a small wicker gate, and approached the entrance ; the house presented a silent and somewhat melancholy aspect ; there was the shaded porch vine-clad, lovely and luxuriant as ever, beneath which Ludovic had passed many hours of real happiness with young Annette. A venerable old man presented himself on their entrance ; his grey locks gave him the appearance of a patriarch; his features were furrowed with the lines of age, and his figure stooped beneath the weight of years. He welcomed them, and bade the noble-looking strangers partake of his best cheer. " There," said he, " I pray you, noble officers, to regale yourselves with our homely wine, and such substantial fare as my scanty larder will afford ; for myself, you will excuse me when I tell you that my only child, a young woman of twenty, is pronounced to be in the last stage of a malady supposed incurable ; the doctor of our village has just quitted her, and he says that she may not live till morning ; therefore I ——— ” "Who not live till morning," interrupted Ludovic ; "what Annette ! -do you mean Annette ?-tell me instantly-delay not an instant, St. Pierre ! lead me to her." The young man was powerfully agitated ; he seized the almost helpless old man by the arm, who gazed on him with looks of astonishment. "Who are you, Sir, who are so familiar with our names ? It cannot be ! -no- not Ludovic, I'm sure ! he was not so tall- not so sunburnt- true, he was handsome," continued the old man, " but not so handsome as rank." "Good father ! -lead me to Annette, I say ; come, talk of identity afterward. I tell you I've come to claim her ; dying-nonsense -impossible ! Why, man, I left her in the bloom of health." "Well, my son, truly am I glad to see thee. Bless thy noble face ! thou art altered, indeed ! Aye, but I should know that scar ;" here the officer pulled off the huge fur cap which had, until this moment, obscured the greater part of his visage. The action betrayed the remains of what had been a severe wound, apparently inflicted with a sabre, and which extended from the right temple downward to the depth of several inches. By this token the old man at once recognised the young soldier, who had been , by his daughter's interference , saved from inevitable death some years before . " Ah ! my son," said he, after surveying him with an admiring gaze from head to foot, and giving a deep groan, " this is a sad return for thee. Why, we deemed you no more ; and Annette, poor angel, has been pining away her existence for months past, under the impression that you had perished in the field. I fear thou hast arrived too late."
 * yourself; besides, your dress and all bespeak you of high


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MR. HENRY GOWEN.

BY MRS. C. K. POWNELL.

"WHAT a lovely girl Emma Wharton is," said Charles Lawrey to a chance acquaintance whom he happened to meet in the street, and as the young man spoke he glanced his eye across the way to a young lady whose graceful step and elegant figure attracted universal attention.

" Ah ! is that Miss Wharton ?" said Mr. Henry Gowen, the person whom he addressed, " I've heard she is rich ; but there's no knowing certainly now-adays, since if a girl has but a thousand dollars she is made an heiress by the popular report." "I do not pretend to know how wealthy Miss Wharton is," replied Lawrey with some coldness. " She is an old acquaintance, but I have never troubled myself about her riches." "Faith, now, that's the first thing I would trouble myself about. There isn't a girl I have known for a month, a knowledge of whose fortune I haven't at my fingers' ends. It don't do to throw oneself away on an angel without a sixpence. Catch me at it." Mr. Henry Gowen spoke frankly. He made it his business to ascertain, at the earliest possible period after an introduction, the exact fortune of every single lady whom he honored with his acquaintance- we say honored, for as Mr. Henry Gowen had a few thousands of his own, and was thought to be the handsomest man in his family, he considered it quite a condescension in him to make the acquaintance of any lady. On marrying a rich wife he was fully resolved. That such advantages as his should be thrown away on a penniless girl | was not to be thought of, and if ever a hawk had a keen eye for its prey Mr. Henry Gowen had one for an heiress. From what Charles Lawrey had said, the fortunehunter suspected that Miss Wharton was really worth more than he had at first suspected, so he lost no time in making her acquaintance, and, as a matter of course, began to prosecute his enquiries as to her wealth, with what effect will appear from the following conversation held with Charles Lawrey about a month subsequent to the preceding interview. "I can tell you all about Miss Wharton ," said Gowen, as they met in the street. " Ah !" "Yes ! I soon ferreted it out. Leave me alone for an enquiry such as this is. Miss Wharton is worth exactly | one hundred and ten thousand dollars, in ground-rents, mortgages, and houses. She has also twenty thousand dollars in stocks. Her income must be at least seven thousand dollars-a very pretty pill as times go. And then she's deucedly handsome. Faith ! I've made up

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my mind to make love to her, so if you know any body who has an eye that way you can give him a friendly hint that it's no use," and Mr. Henry Gowen pulled up his shirt collar with all the coxcombry and conceit of a finished exquisite. There might have been seen a look of surprise on the face of Lawrey when his acquaintance first announced his intentions toward Miss Wharton, but this expression quickly subsided into a quiet smile, which also soon passed away, so that ere Mr. Henry Gowen had finished speaking, the countenance of his hearer had assumed its usual composed appearance. " Pray, when do you intend to bring matters to a crisis ?" asked Lawrey. " In a month at farthest. When I've once made up my mind I lose no time ; and I flatter myself that I've already made a considerable impression on Miss Wharton." "You conceited coxcomb !" muttered Lawrey to himself, and, after a few common place expressions they parted. 66 Emma," said Lawrey that evening, as he entered the parlor where sat his betrothed, " who do you think is about to aspire to your hand, or rather to your fortune, for it seems he has found out that you have one ?" "Who ?" said the lovely girl, " oh ! surely you must mean Mr. Gowen- he is the only fortune-hunter among my acquaintance," she added laughing, " and now I recollect he has been acting very killingly of late, and has even gone so far as to send me this piece of verse- poetry he calls it." -Lawrey took the manuscript and read the poem, laughing with Emma over it. At length he spoke. "As no one knows of our engagement, dearest, this fellow has made me his confidant, and told me to warn any body that it would be useless to pretend to your hand, while he is in the field. What think you of that Emma ?" Emma's fine eyes flashed. "I will bring down his coxcombry yet, with your permission, dear Charles. The impudent fellow ! For the sake of my sex I ought to expose him. Pray, did he honor you with the exact amount of my fortune ?" "To the very cent, a piece of information I never possessed before. I wondered where he learned it, for his minute particularity convinced me that he spoke with authority ; but to-day as I was going to Court, I met the clerk of the Surrogate, who called me to him. He asked me if I knew you, and then if I knew Gowen, for,' says he, that gentleman has been here looking at the late Mr. Wharton's will, and calculating from it the daughter's fortune. Now, I do not know Miss Wharton, but I think she ought to be acquainted with this.' So you see, Emma, your suitor has it all by the card."


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 consideration in order to harmonize with new conditions a system which, we must remember, was evolved 76 years ago, when the suffrage was limited to a very restricted class, the economic development of the country was in its infancy, industriallism did not exist, the masses took no part in politics and the press was in swaddling clothes.

With regard to the points where reforms might be introduced, I have already mentioned them: the establishment of some form of press regulation, an alteration in the composition of the Senate by providing for the participation of expert elements and the limitation of the numbers of Senators—all of which proposals were considered even in the past by such men as Tommaso Tittoni and Emanuele Greppi.

A reform has also been proposed with the object of giving greater stability to the Government, for we have all deplored and suffered from the evils of the so-called rotative system of cabinets, and no one will deny that even a mediocre Government, capable of developing a programme with continuity of action, is more useful than


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. and re-united with those on the body, which is made high ; plain sleeves.

MATERIALS.- Light materials for summer dresses are composed of batistes de Siam, gauzes from Java, impe- | rial baréges, such as those of Aldudes and Baygorry, also the Pekins nacrés, the Pekins Pompadour, shaded moires, foulards, barege, and mousseline cachmeire, with its beautiful designs, Alhambra, renaissance and étrusques.

LES ROBES VICTORIA.-This is one of the greatest novelties of the season in London. The sleeves are made perfectly plain, the skirt very long, and the corsage cut in a becoming shape, setting close to the figure, and yet allowing of ease and liberty to all the movements. A very delicate fancy silk trimming of well-assorted colors, and forming an exquisite design, is placed over each of the large and principal seams, giving it a very new and becoming effect. These dresses are each calculated to show a good figure off to the greatest advantage. THE MONTESPAN SCARFS are and have been in great request ; they are composed of taffetas glacé, having three rows of frilling round the back, shaped to the form of the waist ; others bearing the same name, are made in organdie, lined with pink gauze, and festooned with pink silk forming a tufted heading : these are especially adapted for a youthful slim figure. PELERINES have been much worn, and will continue to be worn during the summer months. They are being made very large, and sometimes they are double, the upper one being much smaller than the under. LES SCHALLS CRISPINS .-These elegant summer wraps are of a most graceful form, and in all colors ; for instance, one in Parma violet, encircled with a broad black lace, surmounted with a heading of lace bouillion, over which is a second Crispin in plain lace, bordered with bouillions, they are merely attached together at the top round the neck and the openings, which allow of the arms passing through. THE CAMAIL SCARFS have become very fashionable ; they are made of an entire new form, in India muslin, surrounded with a bouillion trimming, through which is passed a rouleau of ribbon, having a rich border of lace. The ordinary Camail are immensely inconvenient, and not very becoming, owing to their not showing the form of the waist. The scarf now invented has all the appearance of the camail upon the shoulders, the difference being that the inside is turned over, rendering it sufficiently narrow to admit of the ceinture being partly seen. COMBS.-The Josephine combs are being much worn ; they form a very pretty finish to the coiffure, particularly when the hair is interspersed with flowers ; field flowers are becoming great favorites. PARASOLS are commencing to be worn much larger,

with immense long canes ; they are mostly covered with glacé silk. BRACELETS.-A very pretty fantasie has just been invented for the ornamenting of the short gloves ; it is merely bracelets of fancy gold and silver cord, interspersed with different colors, or in small coral with bows and tassels placed at the side ; sometimes a jewel is introduced in the centre of them ; they are mostly attached with a fancy button. COLLARS. The collar chevaliers, medicis and puritains are all the rage. Lace cardinals are now arrived at their greatest perfection, particularly when made in points Louis XIV. , in Brussels applications ; they are mostly lined in rose or lilac ; but, perhaps, the most elegant and recherché, are those made in black lace, and lined in the same manner. These are the choicest fashions of the month, and with them we shall close our account of the summer costume. In September, it is true, light dresses will continue to be worn, and we may give one or two representations of such styles ; but we shall unite with them the costumes more immediately appropriate for autumn.

STANZAS. BY JOHN S. JENKINS. On! send me back one other word! I care not what that word may be: So thou but say'st thou dost not hate, I'll calmly bear to part with thee. Oh! send me back one other word! I know thou art another's now ; Yet memory will call to mind A former love-a broken vow.

Ol ! send me back one other word ! I'll tear thy image from my heart, Where it is shrined-a holy thingIf ' tis thy will fore'er to part. Oh! send me back one other word! The ties which bind us thou may'st sever ; But "to forget"-nay ! ask not that, For I can cease to love thee never! Oh! send me back one other word! I will not ask of thee a token Thou would'st not have the world to know ; Thy plighted faith shall ne'er be broken. Oh! send me back one other word! Say that I am not dear to thee ; Yet give me leave to love thee e'er, And keep thee in my memory. Oh! send me back one other word! I care not what that word may be: So "tis not hate," I'll freely bear To part, with happiness and thee !


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. We cannot better begin our few quotations from the Poetical Remains of Miss Hooper than by presenting to our readers a poem written by her after a visit to Newburyport in August, 1839. How eloquently does she allude to the home of her infancy !

LINES. Sweet were the airs of home, when first their breath Came to the wanderer, as her gladdened eye Met the rich verdure of her native hills, And the clear glancing waters brought again A thousand dreams of childhood to the heart, That had so pined amid the city's hum For the glad breath of home, the waving trees, And the fair flowers that in the olden time Blew freshly ' mid the rocky cliffs, All these Had seemed but Fancy's picture, and the hues Of memory's pencil, fainter day by day Gave back the tracery, in the crowded mart There were no green paths where the buds of home Might blow unchecked, and a forgotten thing Were Spring's first violets to the wanderer's heart, Till once again amid those welcome haunts The faded lines grew vivid, and the flowersThe fresh pure flowers of youth brought back again The bloom of early thoughts.

Oh! brightly glanced Thy waters, river of my heart, and dreams. Sweeter than childhood conneth, came anew With my first sight of thee, bright memories linked With thy familiar music, sparkling tide ! The rocks and hills all smiled a welcome back, And Memory's pencil hath a fadeless green For that one hour by thee! Oh! gentle home, Comes with thy name fair visions, kindly tones, Warm greetings from the heart, and eyes whose light Hath smiled upon my dreams. Yet golden links Were strangely parted, music tones had past, And ties unloosed, that unto many a heart Were bound with life, the musing child no more Might watch the glancing of the distant sails , And dream of one, whose glad returning step Made ever the fair sunshine of her home; The sister's heart might thrill no more to meet One voice, that in the silence of the grave Is hushed forever, and whose eye's soft light Comes with its starry radiance, when her soul Pines in the silent hour. Home, sweet home! There are sad memories with thee ; Earth hath not A place where Change ne'er cometh, and where Death Doth cast no shadow! yet the moonlight lieth Softly in all thy still and shaded streets, And the deep stars of midnight purely shine, Bringing a thought of that far world, where Love Bindeth again his lost and treasured gems, And in whose " many mansions" there may be A home where Change ne'er cometh, and where Death May leave no trace upon the pure in heart, Who bend before their Father's throne in Heaven! Who has not read " Francesca Carrara ?" And who that has perused that novel has forgotten the gallant death of the young cavalier, Francis Evelyn, whom, with all his vices, we are forced to admire, so daringly does he meet his fate ? The following lines are not the

least forcible of Miss Hooper's. We are indebted to them for bringing up again vividly to our minds, the stirring scene to which they relate.

THE CAVALIER'S LAST HOURS. A dirge, a dirge for the young renown Of the reckless cavalier, Who passed in his youth and glory down To the grave without a fear, The smile on his lip, and the light in his eyeOh! say was it thus that the brave should die ? Midst the morning's pomp and flowers, By fierce and ruffian bands, In sight of his own ancestral towers, And his Father's sweeping lands ;Well that his Mother lay still and low, Ere the cold clods pressed on her son's bright brow!

Oh! the tide of grief swelled high In his heart, that dawn of day, As he looked his last on the glorious sky, And the scenes that round him lay ; But he trod the green earth in that moment of fear, With a statelier bearing-the doomed cavalier ! For fearless his spirt then, And bravely he met his fate, Till the brows of those iron-hearted men Grew dark in their utter hate Of the gallant victim, who met his hour With a song on his lips for his lady's bower! The light of the festive hall, The bravest in battle array,Was it thus that the star of his fate should fall ? Was it thus he should pass away? A dirge, a dirge for his hopes of Fame,The grave will close o'er the noble name! And the tide of life flow on In its dull deep current, as ever, Till every trace of his fate is gone From its dark and ceaseless river. But one may remember- oh, young cavalier--Could'st thou gaze but once on the sleeper near ! That bright and fairy girl, With no shadow on her browSave the blue vein's trace and the golden curl, She is dreaming of thee now. She whispers thy name in her gentle rest ; But how will she wake from that slumber blest ? A dirge, a dirge for the young renown Of the reckless cavalier! He hath waved for the last his plumed bonnet around, And his parting words they hear, "God save King Charles !" --a shrick ; a woman's cry Hath mingled with the martial sounds that rent the earth and sky! The following " Fragment" will convey a good idea of a different style of the poet ; but even here a strain of gentle melancholy pervades the piece. FRAGMENT.

The stars of the old year shone last night, And bright were the beams they cast, But my spirit likened each burning ray, To the torch-light of the Past; For methought that many a heart would chill, To gaze on that glowing sphere, Should Memory's chords that evening thrill, To the dreams of the olden year!


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 a series of Governments more meritorious in the abstract but following each other in quick succession, thereby keeping the country in a state of perpetual unrest, to the detriment of the orderly course of administrative activity.

All these reforms, when they have received definite shape, will be discussed and approved or rejected, but it is absurd to seize upon them as a pretext for going into hysterics and tryng to subvert the whole life of the country. As a matter of fact the whole history of the Parliamentary people par excellence, the British people, represents a continual evolution, a continual adaptation of institutions to new conditions, even to the introduction of female suffrage and the abolition of the Lords' veto, and the transformation of the United Kingdom into a Government in a certain sense of a federal character, by the creation of the Imperial Council on which representatives of the Dominions sit.

Have not the United States, the nation which is regarded as the most democratic, a Cabinet nominated by the President independently of Congress? Had not Imperial Germany a non-Parliamentary Government,


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 there, were trying to keep order with the audience.

It was the most absurd contention. The show-people had set out a certain number of benches; and all who sat upon them were to pay a couple of sous for the accommodation. They were always quite full—a bumper house—as long as nothing was going forward; but let the show-woman appear with an eye to a collection, and at the first rattle of her tambourine, the audience slipped off the seats, and stood round on the outside with their hands in their pockets. It certainly would have tried an angel's temper. The showman roared from the proscenium; he had been all over France, and nowhere, nowhere, "not even on the borders of Germany," had he met with such misconduct. Such thieves and rogues and rascals, as he called them! And every now and again, the wife issued on another round, and added her


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XVI]

The hunters then appointed the watchers where to take

Their places at the openings. Then he, the bold man, spake,

Siegfried the ever-stalwart, “Who leads us through the wood,

To show us where the game is, ye valiant thanes and good?”

“Suppose we part,” quoth Hagen, “or ever we begin

To beat about the forest to see what is therein.

That I and these my masters may reason have to know

Who are the better sportsmen that on this chase do go.

“The beaters and the hounds too, we’ll evenly divide:

Thus each his choice may follow where’er he please to ride.

Then he who is best sportsman shall have our thanks therefore.”

So spake he, and the hunters together stay’d no more.

Then said the noble Siegfried: “The hounds I value not,

Save but a single setter, who such a scent hath got

That he the track will follow where’er the game hath led;

Here’s to a merry hunting!” Kriemhilda’s husband said.

Thereon an aged huntsman took with him a sleuth-hound,

And brought the noble hunters to where much game they found

Without too long a-seeking. The comrades then did hunt

Whatever broke from covert, as sportsmen keen are wont.

Whate’er the setter mark’d him, that slew with his own hand

Siegfried the doughty hero, who came from Netherland.

His steed so swiftly bore him, that naught could him outrun;

Praise above all the others upon this chase he won.


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.

THE COUSINS.

BY ELLEN ASHTON.

"WHAT do you think of Charlotte Estaigne ?" said Fletcher Cowell to his friend Henry Desmond, and removing his cigar from his mouth, he suffered the smoke to curl up in a white silvery line, along his face.

" She is dazzlingly beautiful-a perfect Juno !" enthusiastically responded Desmond.

"Do you admire her more than you admire her cousin, Helen Steevens ?" said Fletcher, and he replaced his cigar, and pushed the flask. "To be sure. Helen is pretty, sweet, amiable and all that ; but she has nothing of that magnificent beauty which characterizes Miss Estaigne. The one might pass for a queen, the other would only do for her humble companion . One's fancy pictures the one on a throne, while the other sits at her feet, looking up into her face." 66 But, after all, the humble companion, though not so showy, may have more real merit than your dazzling queen." "Never. Give me a dashing, brilliant creature - a little aristocratic, haughty if you will- and I would not exchange her for all the amiable young ladies you can rake together from now till Christmas. No-no, Charlotte Estaigne is as far above her cousin, as the star is above the fire-fly. What a superb walk she has ! And then her air, -why, my dear fellow, Helen Steevens, should she live till doomsday, will never excite a buzz like that which follows her cousin every time she enters a room. I wonder how you can compare the two !" "I do not compare them : their characters are too opposite. But that Helen would make, for either you or me, the better wife, I have no more doubt than that I am now knocking the ashes from this cigar. Granting all you have said in Charlotte's favor, she has one fault that will always make her and those around her unhappy -she has a bad temper."

39

is selfish and high tempered, which Helen is not. Nor can Miss Estaigne ever love as her cousin could love. The one is too much occupied with herself to bestow a very large share of her heart on a lover ; but the affection of the other, when once she yields to the passion, will endure till death, I would marry Helen to-morrow ifI thought I could win her." " And more fool for it ! Give me her queenly cousin. As for your prognostics of her ill-temper I mind them not; and even should your prophecies turn out true, I could soon correct this evil in my wife.” " I fear you would find it more difficult than you suppose. Of all habits that of indulging in bursts of passion, is the most difficult to overcome ; and it can only be broken by a long and rigid course of self-denial . Charlotte is not capable of such a struggle, and though love is a powerful ally, it cannot always win the victory. Besides love to Miss Estaigne would always be a secondary matter." "C You are incorrigible," said Desmond, drowning his chagrin in a glass of champaigne, " and I am half minded to challenge you for abusing Miss Estaigne ; but I believe I shall pass it by, only retaliating by saying what I really think--that Helen Steevens is as pliable as willow, and as simple as a child. But come, if we talk this way of the cousins, we shall get at dagger's points. Let us have charity for each other's opinions, for I begin to suspect we are both in love. Suppose we adjourn our discussion, and each drink his charmer's health." "With all my heart," said Fletcher, " and I will add to the toast, may you never be deceived in Charlotte."" "Hush !" said Desmond, lifting his finger, " not another word. Let us stick to our compact, and each, as the Scotch say, dree his own doom." Fletcher had, however, formed the more accurate estimate of the characters of the two cousins ; and indeed his love for Helen was based on his superior appreciation of her merit. Like most others, he had at first been dazzled by the wit and beauty of Charlotte, but a more intimate acquaintance had dissolved the charm, by convincing him that her sparkling satire was in reality the offspring of an ill-tempered heart. Of the wit of the imagination she had but little. She was selfish, exacting, vain, jealous, and superficial. Fletcher soon turned from her in disgust, the more readily because the sweetness and intelligence of Helen had won on him more and more at each succeeding interview. He found that Miss Steevens, though less showy, was more solid than her cousin, that her beauty, though not so dazzling, better endured scrutiny, and that her affability of temper was the result, not of an imbecile, but of a well regulated mind. Where

" Pshaw ! she has been giving you a bitter retort, and you have not yet forgiven her. A bad temper ! -if wit makes a woman ill-tempered, or if a proper spirit is to be called anger, then indeed is Miss Estaigne passionate. Believe me she has a temper far better than her cousin, who indeed seems never to think for herself, but to submit to imposition with an inertness that often makes me question her intellect." " So much for a superficial study of these fair cousins. Catharine, I grant, is showy, but she is also shallow ; her wit is the ripple on the surface and not the deep tide ' below. But Helen is the very opposite. Her modesty, at first, conceals from you her real merit, but once gain the footing of a friend with her, and you will soon be convinced of the superiority of her intellect. True, she always yields to her cousin, but that is because Charlotte Miss Estaigne was only accomplished, Helen was well


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 in order that in the life of the Empire should not be subject to the excessive mobility of Parliamentary vicissitudes? Under the pressure of external events Germany has now modified this system, but I have just returned from Berlin, where I was impressed with the disastrous consequences already produced by the change. A crisis dragged on for a long time and the President of the Republic was unable to form a Cabinet, until he was at last forced to have recourse to the makeshift of a Cabinet of affairs, in which no less than five members, including the Chancellor, were not political men, but officials or private citizens. All these complications are gradually convincing the German people that it will be advisable to return to the former system.

The restored confidence of foreign countries in Italy is indicated by the tourist traffic returns. According to recent and careful statistics compiled by the Ente Nazionale Industrie Turistiche, it is estimated that 700,000 foreigners visited Italy in 1923, spending approximately about two and a half milliards of lire. On the other hand the libellous propaganda of the last few months, actively


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.

THE UNLUCKY INCOGNITO.

BY B. B. тном.

ONCE upon a time there lived, in the good city of Brussels, a certain charlatan, whose vanity was continually leading him into difficulties. To credit his own account no man had passed through greater perils or enjoyed a more extensive acquaintance with celebrated geniuses. He even ventured to boast that there was not a great personage who figured in the Revolution, or during the Empire, that had not been anxious to make his acquaintance. If you were to believe Robinson, Cambacéres forgot his title of Arch-Chancellor of the Empire, to chat with the Ventriloquist ; the Prince Talleyrand declared the greatest pleasure in life was talking with the wonderful Magician ; Marie Louise was never tired of looking at his phantasmagoria ; while the Emperor and King spoke in the most familiar terms with Mr. Robinson, while he shuffled the cards, and had more than once slightly pinched his cars- a testimony of affection and familiarity that he only deigned to give but to two or three of his prime favorites.

But then, Mr. Robinson-that is, if you were to believe his own account of himself-was a man of simple habits, and decided literary taste ; therefore it was that he preferred the society of artists, of poets, of authors of all kinds, to that of emperors, duchesses, marshals, dukes, and functionaries of the Legion of Honor. He dined regularly, he said, once a week with Lebrun ; Andrieux consulted him as to his lectures at the College of France ; Delille read his verses for him ; Arnault let him have the first sight of his best epigrams ; and, lastly, Marie Joseph Chenier could not live without him ! If only two days passed without seeing him (Robinson, ) he ran to his house, leaped upon his neck, and could not bear quitting him. 66 Then you are about to enjoy a very great happiness," said the master of the hotel, " for M. Chenier has just arrived at Brussels. He has taken up his abode in this hotel." "Marie Joseph Chenier !" cried out Robinson, with a noisy, joyous shout, in the accents of which, however, could be discovered a slight tincture of embarrassment. 66 Yes, he himself wrote his name upon my register. Here it is- Chenier.' I also remarked his name upon his portmanteau. Surely you can recognise in the register the handwriting of your friend." 66 Perfectly well ; it is he himself; the matter is no longer doubtful," resumed Robinson. "To-morrow morning I must certainly call upon, and pay my respects to him." "To-morrow ! What! wait until to-morrow to embrace your friend !" Ah, unfortunately, just before I left Paris we had a slight quarrel."

41

"Fic ! a quarrel with the author of Charles the Ninth, of Fenelon, and of Caius Gracchus," interrupted a young man, who piqued himself upon his literary taste. " Ah ! if I were the friend of such a man, as you have the happiness to be, I would press him in my arms, and ask his pardon for any wrong he supposed I might have done. This I would do, instead of standing upon ceremony with him." "These are noble sentiments ; sentiments that I approve of so much, that I mean to act upon them. I shall immediately wait upon Chenier - my friend, Chenier !" " And we, gentlemen," observed the literary enthusiast, " what shall we do ? Can we have in the city of Brussels one of the greatest writers of the age, without showing how much we admire him ? Yesterday we applauded at the theatre a tragedy of Chenier's, and to-day shall not Chenier know how highly the people of Brussels appreciate great poets ? We must give him a serenade." 66 Yes, he must be serenaded ; that is it," was repeated on all sides with enthusiasm . " A serenade, a serenade !" Instantly all were occupied in arranging the musical fete. They affiliated Robinson, in despite of himself, in the joyous conspiracy, in order that he might harangue the Poet in presenting to him his numerous admirers at Brussels. Robinson wished to decline the honor, which he declared should devolve upon an inhabitant of the country. But they paid no attention to his scruples, and he was therefore compelled to go along with them. In order that the reader may the better understand the scene that is about to follow, it is necessary to state the Belgians are the greatest serenaders upon the face of the earth. The Spaniards themselves are thrifty in their nocturnal concerts, when compared with the worthy Flemings. Every occurrence gives occasion to a serenade. Is any one leaving the country ? There is a serenade. Does one arrive from abroad ? A serenade. If it be a marriage, or a christening, or a birthday, the serenade is never wanting, with its bass, its three violins, its flute, its clarionet, its trombone, and its violincello. The compliment-givers take up their position in a silent and mysterious manner about nine in the evening. They range themselves, mostly, beneath the window of the person about to be feted, and then, " one two-three"-the master of the little orchestra waves his bow, and out bursts some triumphant air. The crowd gathers together on hearing the noise ; the windows open, and are filled with the curious ; all shout, and all hurrah. All then ordinarily finishes with a speech from the balcony. The serenaded is often surprised in his robe de chambre, and while he holds his nightcap and grasps his loose dressing gown tightly about him with one hand, he gesticulates with the other, and trics, or pretends to try to " wipe away a tear."


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 carried on and exploited abroad, has sufficed to reduce the traffic. People are blinded by political passion and the country suffers. Recently, owing to various duties with which I have been entrusted I have had frequent occasions to discuss the situation with foreigners, and I am bound to admit that in consequence of this malignant campaign there is a certain bewilderment abroad in judging Italian conditions. Those who live out of Italy have to form their their opinions on the newspapers, and the Italian newspapers which are sent abroad are the very ones which most contribute to defame Italy. Whereas in other countries, when it is a question of relations with foreigners, internal dissensions are put aside in order to present a united front, we unfortunately have the habit of blackening ourselves. Owing to the same factious spirit, which in the past drove Italian cities to call in foreign aid to crush their neighbours, the Oppositions, impotent at home appeal for help to the foreign press which asks for nothing better than a good occasion to attack us. A sort of class solidarity also comes into play. The press tends to form a power within the State; if you dare to touch this power


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. WORLD OF FASHION.

poet— pardon his on this solemn and august occasion. ‘Whatever be the wrong he hus done to your feelings, he has openly confessed them, and hes nobly expressed his sorrow fur them, Do not, then, carry his punishment to the dreadful extremity of feigning not to know him.”

“If T were not half foolish already, this persecution would drive me mad,” roared out the poor litile man in a passion,. :

“ Chenier ! Chenier !” shouted, or ruther bellowed out a thousand voices beneath the window.

Chenier felt back upon the sofa, pale and fainting.

“This is, indeed, equal to assassination, Here I thought no one could know me—here I bave offered injury to no man, and yet here is there gathered an entire population who demand from me my head.”

““Yes—it is your head that they demand,” interrupted the Belgian and misinterpreting the language he had heard.

“Do not refuse it to them any longer. present it to them.”

“What is it give them my head? Gine them my own head 2” repeated the unhappy mon, whe @ung himself about as if in @ confused dream, and did not understand any thing of what web passing around him.

The young Belgian quickly opened his window—cast himself upon the Frenchman, and by main force, dragged him to the window, ‘The latter thought he was about to be flung among the crowd in the etreet, and therefore clung with a desperate energy to the balcony. Ag soon as the spectators beheld hita—touched with the modesty of the port, and the resistance that he offered to their homage, they set up s huzza, 60 loud, s0 astound- ing, and so aw(ul that it Would have deadened even the roag of a park of artillery—und at the samo instant the Frenchmsn felt something cold, damp, and clammy de~ scending upon his bald pate.

At length the victim escaprd from the hands of the Belgian, pushed him out of the room (Robinson bad maile his escape some time hefore)—bolted aud burred the door, snd in flinging himself upon the sofa, perceived something fall from his bead.

“ What, a crown, too! oh! oh!” It was as if he had said—I am made utterly contemptible.”

The poor man fancied that his troubles were over for the evening; but suddenly he heard a dull noise on the staircase. It was followed by whispering voices, and the steps of persons who were moving forward with precaution. The noise became more distinet as it ap- proached the chamber. Persons stopped at the door— they tapped gently—no notice was taken of them, and then a voice bawled through the key-hole—

“Monsieur Chenier! open the door if you please. Do not any longer maintain an useless incognito. One of your friends has recognised you in Brussela,

Be pleased to

43.

Robinson, Sir, the celebrated: ventritoquiat, knows you very well.”

“41 don’t know you at all.” I hever knew Robinson I never saw a ventriloquist. When will you have done with this nonsense? Whut more do you want with me?”.

“It in to pray you that you will honor us by being present at a banquet, intended to show our respect for you.”

“A banquet for me!!! why 607 and you don't know me.”

of those besieging the door to an assistant. Never in my life did I see any thing to equal his obstinacy. ‘Well, we must obtain hy main force, what he refuses to do willingly. The same thing happened once to Rousseau, and that greut ‘man was delighted with the force that was used againat him, Well try the sume now.”
 * 1) What originale all theso great poeta aro!” said one

The speaker placed his back against the door. He dent his lege, mude 2 bow of his shoulders—and crash! in went the door, and over it “the deputation’”” of the «good citizens of Brussels.” They laid hold of the tra- veller, carried him away in their arms, amid loud shouts of joy from the mob assembled outside the banqueting hall. In five minutes afterward the stranger found himself on the right of the chairman, at a grand ban- quet. Next to him—and in compliment fo kim—was placed hia dear friend Robinson. In vain did he protest against his being thus treated—in vain did he even ask pernission to change his moming gown for a coat. They held him fast—a prisoner of war, and whether he would or not, he was forced to partake of an excellent supper,

At last, the dessert was placed on the.table, and one of the entertainers arose. ‘Troubled, agitated, it might

I don’t know you,

.be said excited, considering in whose presence he stood,

he drew from his pocket a pieve of paper, and then pro- posed the following toast—

«To Chenier—the great poet! The illustrious dra- matic author, whose sublime talent, Belgium rivals France in awarding to him the full meed of admiration. ‘May he ever bear in mind the hospitable réceptiun that the cily of Brassels is happy in having the opportunity of giving to him. To Chenier—to the great poet!”

The person to whom this compliment was paid then rose, and there was instantly a dead silence in all parts of the room. .

“Gentlemen,” said he, “I am very grateful to you fr your hospitality ; but it ia to me, in effect, a very great injury and annoyance. Pethaps there is a poet whose name is the same as mine—but thank Heaven! I never knew him, nor his stuif called poetry; { am Matihew John Chenier, a dealer in Bordeaux wines, and

Mr. | T have come here from Paris, on business,” �


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MY SISTER'S GRAVE.

Tr was one of the last days of March. ‘The carth had already, for tho most part, bared ite bosom to the revivi fying influences of the breezes of the vernal season, while the biilliancy of the few remaining spots of snow, aa they reflected the rays of the sun, now descending from his meridian, bespoke that they too must soon yield to the power of warmth. Not a cloud interrupted the mild beauties of the sky, while every tree, though as yet der fitute of the least signs of vegetation, seemed to smile with gladness, as it reflected the Creator's glories,

On such a day I was making one of my vacation rambles through the broad and beautiful valley of |-

Oo. c. - To the student whe has long been confined within the gloomy walls of College— who has been accustomed to ils dusky halls—to its rigid discipline—its stereotyped routine of duties—who ‘has been poring for montha over the musty, time-worn pages of ancient lore—to him, I say, nature has a sweet- ness—a delicious charm which it has te few. Like an uncaged bird his spirit soars away on gladsome pinions, revelling in thoso felicities peculiar to its being. What though the verdant@reen of May, with its host of flowers be wanting? He finds in his soul a chord which yields to the feeblest touch—a sympathy with the slightest externe! influence. He has a satisfaction in the joyful presages of such a day which others might not experience amid all the glories of summer—the ‘earth in its robe of green—the forest in its rich foliage, enlivened hy the music of the feathered choir,

To me, the scenes before mo had peculiar interest, This was my native valley. Those hills were the first objecta of my remembrance. Just below was the spot Tonce called home. *

Pensive andl solitary, 1 wandered on. ¥ bad visited, during the: day, some of my early companions; but although I had been absent for some time, I excused myself from tong calls: for notwithstanding that L am naturally fond of society, I felt a peculiar preference, that day, to being alone. There was no want of objects wilh which to occupy my thoughts. Every spot, every shrub was consecrated by some endearing recollection, There was the school-house, to which I had often re paired for the delightful cigagements of school; where I 60 often greeted the smiling countenance of my teacher —a man of a very different order of mind from that possessed by too many whose professed business it is to teach the young idea how to shoot.” He had an eye to perceive, a soul to appreciate the delicate workings of the young mind—he cherished with fondest care ite infant aspirations, directing them to the noblest objects, There was the play ground, where I had disported myself, during hours of respite, wilh my young mates.

FASHION. An

Tenuld even fancy that I heard the jolly shouts of the thoughtless group, as they, with elastic spirits, with hearts free from ease, bounded over the turf—while the thought occurred to me, where are they now 1—~and T need not say that the big tear frequently gushed from my eye. «

‘With such feelings, I at length found myself at the grave-yard, where the early settlers of the country, of whom were my paronts, had been accustomed to “bury their dead out of their sight.” This place—the abode of the depurted—though it has 0 often been celebrated in the lay of the poet, will ever afford new subjects of interest to the meditative imagination. But now I did not pause to reflect ghat in this spot might be loid

“Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;””

that in this yard, sequestered to be sure, where moul- dered the dust of those who had occupied the ordinary walks of life, might lay buried some one who, by due cultivation, and the favors of fortune, might have filled the chief offices of the nation, and moved in the highest walks of society—none of the ten thousand ordinary reflections did 1 indulge—there was one feeling which pervaded my whole oul—under whose influence I repelled every other impression, There, beneath that green eward, now nearly levelled with the adjacent ground—shaded by a broad marble slab, on which wero two inscriptions, lay-mingling with earth the remains of my only sisters !

My sisters! I atart at the sound of the faint whisper which escapes my lips, Were there ever those beings on earth of whom I could say—they are my sisters’ Ob, it must be a deceitful vision with which I am beguiled! It cannot be that ever the day was when I was thus bappy. :

I approached the head stone and read the inscriptions —their names, the times of their death, and their ages —a flood of subduing recollections came over my soul! I was but three yeats old when Anna, my elder sister, was buried, yet fresh in my memory were the cir- cumstances connected with the melancholy ceremony. There was the coffin slowly lowering into the grave— there the newly heaped up mound under which Cornefia had tain for three short weeke—there the sorrow-atricken parents, whom not the strong consolations of Christian ope could restrain from a flood of grief:—~yonder stood in @ row ten or twelve—I cannot now say whether lads or young men; but their situation I could point out exactly, and their very dress I could describe. The neighbors, young and old, were looking on with weeping eyes—for Annu, they say, was 2 lovely girl—she was beloved of all who knew her.

Cornelia was an infant of a few months when the iey bund of death was leid upon hee: Anna was eleven years old. Maving long been an only daughter, she �


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 there a general cry of alarm: «Newspapers of all countries unite, the Ark of the Covenant is in danger».

Then we have the professional politicians whose attitude towards Italy is generally based on a non-benevolent suspicion. The causes are of various nature. Seen from outside and through the papers, the policy of the Fascist Government may appear to be based on an anti-Parliamentary spirit; it is easy to see that Parliamentary politicians do not want the example to be followed, as they have no wish that the field in which they gather their laurels should become sterile. Furthermore, they judge us through the preoccupations of the internal situation of their respective countries; it is easy to understand why Mr. Mac-Donald and the Labour party or M. Herriot's Radical-Socialist coalition of the Left groups should be against us. But there are other reasons. A people that works, grows and expands, that knows its own measure and demands a place in the sun, comes into conflict with the interests, aspirationas and susceptibilities of others. All have some reason to fear something: emigration upsets the monopoly of foreign labour our commercial


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 competition is making itself felt and disturbs the interests of other countries; the feeling that also from the point of view of international politics Italy is no longer a negligeable quantity, but carries adequate weight, comes as an unpleasant surprise to many non-benevolent rivals.

Fortunately journalism and politics are not everything. Even in foreign countries there are large masses of people representing production and work, and in these circles the outlook is more objective. They know that Italy has conducted a great war with honour and at the cost of terrible sacrifices; that she had been serionsly by stricken by the tide of madness coming from Russia, so much so that, after Hungary, she was regarded at a certain moment as the country most deeply infected with Bolshevik poison; that the Italian people found in itself the strength to react, vigorously and that its recovery was rapid and complete, and the results of this recovery are appreciated not on account of the good or evil which is said of them, but on what people, even abroad, really see and feel.

Manufacturers, merchants and bankers have posi-


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160

In all he put his hand to alert he was enow;

Of all the beasts, the first one that he to death did do

An ox was, strong and savage, that with his hand he fell’d;

And then he, on a sudden, a lion grim beheld.

E’en as the hound aroused it he with his bow let fly,

On which a sharpen’d arrow he’d fitted hastily.

After the shot the lion but three bounds further ran;

Whereon his hunting comrades to thank Siegfried began.

There after he an elk slew, and then a buffalo,

And then four sturdy bisons, a savage stag also.

His steed so swiftly bore him that naught could get away:

Of harts and hinds scarce any there were he fail’d to slay.

A huge wild boar the sleuth-hound had routed from his lair,

And when to flee he turn’d him right in his path was there

The hero of the hunting, all ready for the fight;

The savage brute did straightway charge at the valiant knight.

This boar Kriemhilda’s husband then with his broadsword slew:

The like no other huntsman so easily could do.

And when he thus had felled him, they put in leash the hound:

His goodly spoils were talk’d of all Burgundy around.

Then spake to him his huntsmen: “If ’tis for us to say,

Leave us, we pray, Lord Siegfried, a few live beasts to slay!

To-day thou hast made empty for us both wood and wold.”

Thereat he fell to smiling that worthy thane and bold.


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Page:Giuseppe Bianchini - The Work of the Fascist Government and the Economic Reconstruction of Italy - tr. Luigi Villari.pdf/43

 tive data on which to base their opinions. Italy buys and is an excellent and sought-after customer. She must secure her supplies of wheat, cotton, wool, coal, metals, etc., abroad and she orders and pays punctually. Our goods reach foreign markets, and our competitors appreciate their quantity, quality and price; they realize the importance and progress of Italian trade with an accuracy which no amount of mere words, even if put into print, can contradict. There are many branches in which our productive organization is admittedly of the first class. I need only mention textiles, natural and artificial silk, motor cars, the electrical industry, felt hats, etc. With a territory insufficient to support the population, rich in sunshine and natural beauties, but lacking in raw materials, we have yet managed to overcome these drawbacks and to counteract our unfavourable situation by a magnificent effort to turn our labour to account. Both the intelligence of the leaders and the virtues of the people have contributed to the result; let us be properly proud of this effort, but we should not forget that we may not rest on our laurels. We live on the margin as it were, in a