of description and power of delineating character, Mr. Tennyson's songs are most touching and show a more original power still than the other two qualities.

And now we will conclude this sketch of the Idylls, which from the nature of the publication it is intended for must be short, too short in fact for reviewing such a beautiful poem; but we can only tell our readers who have not yet read the work, that there is more to be found equally beautiful in nearly every page, and we will take as our

motto

FLOS REGUM ARTHURUS.

FLOS FLORUM LAURUS.

FLOS POETARUM LAUREATus.

то ITALY.

Once best, yet loveliest, of the lands,
Dried is the dew of hostile gore,
And listless lie the tyrant bands,

And peaceful sleeps thy wearied shore.

And thou, most beautiful of slaves,
Art musing, free, on freemen's graves.

Sad mother! if in idle strife

Passed the true spirits to their place,
If the pale death-blow woke no life,

No strength to mould a happier race!
If all their prayers and blood were vain
And foreign vultures rend the slain !

But blest art thou, and blest are they,
If the drear battle-field be free,
And phoenix-like, from out their clay,
Springs the new stem of Liberty,
To burgeon forth, in head and hand,
And grow, and guard, and shade the land!

Sons of the South! we know you now,
Sincere to act as well as feel,
We hail the bays that crown the brow
When won, as erst, by loyal steel;
One hour of Solferino's height
Atoned for years of soft delight!

Yet deem not generous fire alone
Can win the end of sacrifice,
Desert is by endurance shown,

The flow of time must prove its price, And Baal's priests could lavish blood, While calm Elijah piled the wood.

For riven bonds may meet again,

And wolves, when sated, may combine, And seas of blood, and years of pain,

May whelm, at length, a soul divine.
Sons of the South! receive, in time,
A warning from a calmer clime !

Haste not! True liberty is old

By soft gradations stalwart trees

Their living ornaments unfold,

And harden in the quickening breeze

The Fabii of a later day

May build an empire on delay.

Trust not! The threats of thirsty foes
Match not the treachery of friends,
And brittle is the web of those

Who weave, but know not where it ends.
Trust not for purposes of good

The man of wiles, the man of blood.

Serve not the spiritual lie,

The heartless craft that sports with heaven ;

Shame that beneath yon glorious sky,

Yon shrine that Freedom's God has given,

The man should dwindle to the beast,

The puppet of a palsied priest!

Be self-reliant, patient, free,

Be jealous of your classic soil. Italians! guard your sapling tree

With life and labour, time and toil; And broad its branches yet shall wave The crowning glory of the brave!

""Tis vain-away with blood and brands— Arms for the German and the Gaul

Italian hearts, Italian hands,

In nobler contests rise or fallPoor fools! to seek in rugged war The joys that gild the artists' lore!

"A Raffaele drank his heavenly skill

From yon rich draughts of cloudless blue,

Nurtured beneath yon frowning hill

The genius of a Rosa grew

Well may the land that gave them birth

Forget a Cato's narrower worth!"

Can the once warlike race believe
That this is all the arts afford,—
A woman's energy to weave

A wreath for each contemptuous lord?
Or deem ye that the hateful tread
Will stir to life the indignant dead?

Far, far below, old Roman bones,
Are kindling in unearthly life;

And high above, historic stones

Yearn for some Danite of the strife

Etruria's sons may greet the foe,

Her very mountains thunder-No!

Enough!-they come-the countless brave,
Along the plain their numbers swell -
Be every sod a hero's grave,—

Be every patriot a Tell!

Away! their surging hosts are vain,

And Freedom rises o'er the slain.

DIARY OF JOHN SINCLAIR.

NOT BY SAMUEL PEPYS.

FEB. 10.-To Rugby, it being Black Monday, as it is called, though in reality Thursday. When there was troubled to hear it rain as it did, because of the walk from the station to the house. However, did set out in goodly company, and reached home in safety, though my black camlet suit bespattered and besmeared by foulness of the weather. A warm welcome and so to bed.

Feb. 11.-Up and put on my grey suit with pearl buttons while the black camlet was cleansed from the mud. It being a great frost I walked to school buildings to chapel, where there preached the great doctor. The discourse good, insisting on the advantages of divisions of time. Hence with Mr. Pall to breakfast at home. Being just after quarter day did indulge ourselves in some sausages and enjoyed a pleasant social meal. After dinner Pall and I to Bilton Pond, and there walked finely, seeing people slide on skeates; and indeed at last we fell to sliding, the first time that ever I did in my life, which I did wonder to see myself to do.

Feb. 15.-Again with Mr. Pall to Bilton Pond. Did wonder to see young ladies sliding with their skeates amongst the men, and it was strange how the first did slide with a great deal of seeming skill.

Feb. 16.-Hard at study. Read in daytime with Mr. Harby, brother to my Lady Mayoress, at Arithmetique. In the evening with Mr. Qui Marche at Musique.

Feb. 18.-A hard frost still. On this day occurred a strange commotion. After breakfast I heard of a fray between two of the scholars and an inhabitant of the town, and that this day they intended to fight with snowballs for the precedence. Our master, I heard, ordered no one to meddle in the business but let the townspeople do what they would. But though to that end orders were given to the head scholars, here called præpostors, a fight at last broke out, and there was a great bustle through the city all the day. And indeed the contest raged mightily here and there, especially around the various boarding houses; for there the scholars did assemble. And in truth they did fight right valiantly,