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as may still be seen in his correspondence | struck all Christendom with consternation, preserved at Simancas, what revelations and the battle of Mohacz, which sealed the could he not have made of events and per- fate of Hungary and his own sister Mary, sons had he been so minded? or what auto- are not even mentioned. Not a single trait biography so rich, when retired from the of the character or personal appearance of world he dictated to his secretary, Van any one of his contemporaries, great or Male, at Yuste, the rich lessons of his long small, seems to have fastened on his imagand varied experience? Surely, a man of ination or his memory. He is, indeed, the less busy life and less stirring ambition than central figure of his own narrative, and the Charles V., in his sombre solitude, as he most important, but that is by wiping out of looked back upon the breathing world which his canvas all others, and throwing them he had left, amidst "his gardens of lemon into such an immeasurable distance, that no and orange trees, and sparkling fountains distinct impression of them is made upon and basins," could not have failed to have the spectator. In fact, from beginning to left some impressions in his memoirs of end, the book is full of the emperor's marches those noble scenes-" sad, high, and work- and countermarches, of what he might have ing full of state and woe," in which he had done and didn't do; how he got into a wood once played so important a part. If, how- and got out again, marched up a hill and ever, in the work now before us, which pro- marched down; and the marvellous minutefesses to contain his autobiography, the ness with which these points are insisted on, reader expects to meet with any such reve- bears a ludicrous disproportion to their want lations, he will find himself miserably mis- of importance. We know of no parallel to taken. If these are the incidents he would it in reality or romance, except it be in naturally look out for in the life of Charles Foote's farce of "The Mayor of Garratt: " V., he will look in vain for them here."Oh! such marchings and countermarchKatharine and her divorce, and all its mo-ings! From Brentford to Ealing; from mentous consequences cannot draw from the imperial narrator a single passing expression of regret. Luther and Wolsey may as well have never been, for any notice they receive in his pages. The fall of Rhodes, which

Ealing to Acton; from Acton to Uxbridge! The dust flying, sun scorching, men sweating!" Such a chronicle of flocci, nihili, parvi, is this Autobiography of Charles V., only not one-half so amusing.

for freedom, and treats as a question of epidemic emotion what we look upon as one too sacred and solemn for the proffer of foreign sympathy and counsel.-Spectator, 4 Oct.

GARIBALDI has written a rapturous political love-letter to Britannia; and Britannia, much as she admires the man, feels a little bashful and awkward in the unexpected situation. She is to arise with "uplifted brow," and point to her sister France the road of happy revolutionary freedom. She is to call to Helvetia-the Vestal Virgin of the Alps-to aid America, A NUMBER of operatives, trained in the difher daughter, who has so recently gone forth ferent branches of flax manufacture and the from her bosom and is engaged in struggling power-loom weaving of linen, have been enagainst the traders in human flesh; and when gaged at Belfast to work in mills in Prussia she has aided that daughter to conquer them, and Belgium. They are chiefly women, and to call her back to her side to aid in the great have entered into arrangements to work for Congress of liberated nations, whose judgments stipulated periods. are to supersede war over the whole earth. Britannia is really embarrassed how to reply, and feels a little inclined to answer General Garibaldi like the fascinating child when told by its father to kiss the kind lady,-" You do it, pa; I so shy." The letter is couched in that peculiar tone of noble but hectic sentiment which scarcely realizes the heavy weight of personal responsibility attaching to national efforts

STREET railways are to be immediately introduced in the cities of Hamburg and Altona. Herr Muller, a civil engineer, has also devised a system of city railroads for Berlin and Vienna, and it is considered likely that the latter will accept the proposition.

GARIBALDI TO THE ENGLISH PEOPLE. men should be as brethren? Yes, call her!

A WORLD'S CONGRESS SUggested.

:

And she, forgetting that she is temporarily under the dominion of the Genius of Evil

if not to-day, to-morrow-if not to-morrow, later-will reply as she ought to your generous and regenerating appeal. Čall, and at once, the bold sons of Helvetia, and clasp them firmly to your breast! The warlike children of the Alps-the vestals of the sacred fire of liberty on the continent of Europe-they will be with you. What a host! "Call the great American Republic, for she is in truth your daughter, and is strug

which you have already so nobly proclaimed. Help her to escape from the terrible strife waged against her by the traders in human flesh. Help her, and then place her by your side at the great assembly of nations-that final work of human intellect. Call to your side all those people who would be free, and lose not an hour. The initiative which belongs to you to-day, may to-morrow concern another. May God forbid such a calamity! Who ever more gallantly than France in '89 assumed that responsibility? At that solemn moment she held up Reason' to the world, crushed tyranny, and consecrated free brotherhood. Now, after nearly a century, she is reduced to combat the liberty of nations, to protect tyranny, and over the altar of Reason to erect the symbol of that wicked and immoral monstrosity which is called the Papacy.

GARIBALDI has addressed the following remarkable letter to the people of England :"TO THE ENGLISH NATION: It is while under the double pressure of bodily and mental pain that man can most truly and most acutely appreciate good and evil, and, leaving the authors of his misery to eternal shame, devote unlimited affection and gratitude to his benefactors. And that to you, O people of England, I owe a heavy debt for benefits bestowed, I feel in the inmost re-gling now for the abolition of that slavery cesses of my soul. You were my friends in prosperity, and now you continue the precious boon in the days of my adversity. May God reward you! And my gratitude is the more intense, O worthy people, inasmuch as, rising as it must do beyond the mere level of individual feeling, it becomes sublime in the general sentiment toward those nations whose progress you represent. "Yes! you are deserving of the gratitude of the world, because you offer an asylum for misfortune, from whatever part it may come; and you identify yourself with misery, pity it, and relieve it. The French and Neapolitan exile finds in your bosom shelter from his tyrant; he finds sympathy; he is helped, because an exile, because unhappy. The Haynaus-the hardened instruments of autocrats-find no rest in your liberal land, and fly terrified before the bitter scorn of your generous sons. And, in truth, without your noble bearing, what would Europe be? Tyranny seizes its exiles in those other lands where virtue is unnatural, where liberty is a lie; but they are still safe on the sacred soil of Albion. I, like so many others, seeing the cause of justice trampled under foot in so many parts of the world, despaired of human progress. But, turning to you, my mind is calmed-calmed by the contemplation of your fearless progress towards that end to which the human race seems called by Providence.

"Proceed on your way, O calm, unconquered nation, and be less tardy in calling your sister peoples into the same path of human progress. Call the French nation to co-operate with you. You two are worthy to march hand in hand in the vanguard of human progress. Yes, call her! In all your meetings let concord between the two great sisters be your cry. Yes, call her! Call to her always, and in every mannerwith your voice, and with the voice of her great exiles of Victor Hugo, the highpriest of human brotherhood. Tell her that conquest is, in this age, an anomalythe emanation of an unsound mind. Why should we covet the land of others, when all

"Arise, then, Britannia, and at once! Arise with your undaunted brow and point out to the peoples the path they must tread! With a Congress of the world to decide between nations, war would be an impossibility. No longer would there exist those standing armies which make liberty impossible. What weapons! What defences! What engines of attack and defence! And then the millions squandered in implements of destruction would be employed in fostering the industry and diminishing the misery of the human race. Begin, then, O people of England; and, for the love of God, initiate the vast human compact, and bestow this great gift on the present generation! Besides Switzerland and Belgium, you would see other nations, urged on by the good sense of the people, accept your invitation, and hasten to enroll themselves under your banner. Let London now be the seat of this Congress, which shall in future be agreed on by a mutual compact of arrangement and convenience. Once more, God bless you. May he repay you for the benefits you have heaped so prodigally on me. With gratitude and affection, yours,

"Varignano, Sept. 28."

"GARIBALDI.

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And left us his grand likeness at its best;
High on a hill up which the world might climb!”
Better for all had he been sooner shrined;
The old true heart, and very foolish head!
A model Man-especially if dead-
Perfect as some Greek statue-and as blind!"

Friends talk of failure; and I know how he
Will slowly lift his loving, cordial eyes
And look them through, with mournful,
strange surprise,

Until they shrink and feel 'tis Italy

Has failed instead. The words they came to speak

Will sink back awed by his majestic calm. His wounds are such as bleed immortal balm, And he is strong again; the friends are weak. It is not failure to be thus struck down

By Brothers who obeyed their Foe's com mand,

And in the darkness lopped the saving hand Put forth to reach their country her last crown.

He only sought to see her safely home;

The tragic trials end; the sufferings cease, In wedded oneness and completing peace; Then bow his gray old head and die in Rome. It is no failure to be thus struck back

Caught in a Country's arms-clasped to her

heart

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No failure! though the rocks may dash in foam This first strength of a nation's new lifestream,

"Twill rise-a Bow of Promise-that shall gleam

In glory over all the waves to come.

We miss a footstep, thinking "Here's a stair,"
In some uncertain way we darkly tread ;
But God's enduring skies are overhead,
And spirits step their surest oft in air.
His ways are not as our ways; the new birth,
At cost of the old life, is often given.
To-day God crowns the Martyrs in his heaven;
To-morrow whips their murderers on our earth.

You take back Garibaldi to his prison !

Why, this may be the very road to Rome;

They would have said, "She croucheth to her doom,"

If Italy, in some shape, had not risen!

I

say 'twas God's voice bade him offer up Himself for Aspromonte's sacrifice;

So, to that height, his countrymen might rise; For them he freely drank his bitter cup.

It is a faith too many yet receive,-
Since the false prophecy of old went forth—
"The tribe of Judas yet shall rule the earth.”
But he is one that never would believe.

His vision is most clear where ours is dim.
The mystic spirit of eternity

That slumbers in us deep and dreamingly, Was ever quick and more awake in him.

And so he fixed his look across the night:

His face, though bright as sunshine, often told How the soul's underworld in darkness rolled, And what he saw with sorrow's second sight: But, like a lamp across some dismal heath,

A light shone through his eyes no night could quench;

The winds might make it flicker, rains might drench;

Nothing could dim it save the dark of death.

And if his work's unfinished in the flesh,
Why, then his soul will join the noble dead
And toil till it shall be accomplished,
And Italy hath burst this Devil's mesh.

Easier to conquer kingdoms than to breed

A man like Garibaldi, whose great name Doth fence his country with his glorious fame. Worth many armies in her battle-need. His is the royal heart that never quails,

But always conquers; wounded, pale, and low,

He never was so dear as he is now

They bind him, and more strongly he prevails.

Greater to-day than Emperor or King,

There, where, for throne, they seat him in the dust,

The express image of sublimest Trust, And consecrated by his suffering.

A sovereignty that overtops success! Nothing but heaven might crown his patriotbrow,

And lo, a Crown of Thorns is on it now, With higher guerdon than our world's caress. The vision of all his glory fills our eyes,

And with one heart expectant nations throb Around him-with one mighty prayer they sob,

And wait God's answer to this sacrifice. GERALD MASSEY.

-Good Words.

PALACE AND PRISON.

IN the fort of Varignano,

On a hard and narrow bed, Brooding thoughts, as a volcano Broodeth lava-floods unshed, Lies a chained and crippled hero, Balked and baffled, not subdued, Though his fortune's sunk to zero,

At blood-heat still stands his mood.

In his sumptuous sen-side palace,
Where Biarritz looks o'er sea,
With all splendor for such solace

As from splendor wrung may be,
. Sits a crowned and sceptred sovereign,
Strong in arms, more strong in art,
Wrapped in thoughts past men's discovering,
With a marble stone for heart.

From her centuries' sleep arisen,

Clenching half unfettered hands,
'Twixt that palace and that prison,
Flushed and fierce Italia stands.
Brave words she has owed that ruler,

Brave words and brave deeds as well,
Now she doubts he fain would fool her

Of the hopes he helped to swell. So with visage dark and lowering She that palace-threshold spurns, And with tenderness o'erpowering To the fortress-prison turns. Ne'er a doubt of the devotion

Of that chained and crippled chief,
Clouds her love's profound emotion,
Stays the passion of her grief.

What's an emperor's word, whose action
To his utterance gives the lie?
But this chief for love bade faction,
Prudence, policy stand by-
Blind maybe, but blind for brightness
Of the goal to which he strove,
All his life is one long witness
Life to him is less than love.

Then what wonder to the prison
From the palace if she turn?
"Tis her star that newly risen

O'er that fortress-cell doth burn. The true prison is that palace, And that prisoner is true king! Were his pallet-bed a gallows,

There Italia's heart would cling, Not to yon man, dark and callous, Girt by his base courtier-ring.

-Punch.

ST. PETER WITHOUT THE GATES. 1862.

"Petrus, quum venisset ad portam, vidit Christum sibi occurrentem, et aitDomine, quo vadis? Qui respondit, Venio Romam iterum "-AUREA LEGENDA, cap. 89. crucifigi.' "WHAT memory of my ancient life art thou? Is there another Christ than he who trod The shattered gates of death, and rose to God? But no-all pain is graven on thy brow As only one could suffer.-Thou art he!

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Hath faith no future? Was the cross in vain ?

"I travel Romewards-I must die again." "O Lord, the story of thy death is sung

In every church, and carved on every stone;The glazing eye sees thee; the infant's tongue Blends Jesus' with its household names in one; The priest who curses those whom Christ set free,

The freeman, cursed and cringing, call on thee;

The sbirro in the desecrated home,

The soldier, whose dishonored sword is red, The mother crouched beside the nameless

dead,

All know that thou hast died for them, for Rome;

These wait thy judgments, Lord! thy cross

were vain.

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SATURDAY EVENING.

How sweet the evening shadows fall, Advancing from the west!

As ends the weary week of toil,

And comes the day of rest.

Bright o'er the earth the star of eve
Her radiant beauty sheds;
And myriad sisters calmly weave
Their light around our heads,

Rest, man, from labor! rest from sin!
The world's hard contest close;
The holy hours with God begin-
Yield thee to sweet repose.

Bright o'er the earth the morning ray
Its sacred light will cast,
Fair emblem of that glorious day
That evermore shall last.

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SHORT ARTICLES.-Follow my Leader, 370. The phrase "A Violation of Nature," Circular Panoramic Prints, 375.

375.

The article on The Slave Power, in No. 963, is said to be by John Stuart Mill.

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