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not unworthy of the country and associations which suggested it."-The Daily News says The Story of Guido and Lita" stands in need of no distinguished name to recommend it, and it will assuredly be popular among poetical readers." The Pall Mall Gazette also accords its meed of praise, saying "The most striking thing about the whole composition is the almost perfect melody to which the commonest and most threadbare phrase is attuned." The poem opens with the following beautifully descriptive lines :

HAIL, Riviera! hail, the mountain range

:

That guards from northern winds, and seasons' change,
Yon southern spurs, descending fast to be
The sun-lit capes along the tideless sea;
Whose waters, azure as the sky above,
Reflect the glories of the scene they love!

Here every slope, and intervening dale,
Yields a sweet fragrance to the passing gale,

From the thick woods, where dark caroubas twine

Their massive verdure with the hardier pine,

And, 'mid the rocks, or hid in hollowed cave,

The fern and iris in profusion wave;

From countless terraces, where olives rise,
Unchilled by autumn's blast, or wintry skies,
And round the stems, within the dusky shade;
The red anemones their home have made;
From gardens, where its breath for ever blows
Through myrtle thickets, and their wreaths of rose.

Like the proud lords who oft, with clash of mail,
Would daunt the commerce that the trader's sail
Had sought to bring, enriching and to bless,
The lands they plagued with conflict and distress,
Till none but robber chiefs and galley slaves
Ruled the fair shores or rode the tranquil waves,-
So stand their forts upon the hills; with towers
Still frowning, sullen at the genial showers,

That, brought on white-winged clouds, have come to dower
The arid soil with recreative power.

No warrior's tread is echoed by their halls,
No warder's challenge on the silence falls.
Around, the thrifty peasants ply their toil
And pluck in orange groves the scented spoil
From trees, that have for purple mountains made
A vestment bright of green, and gold inlaid.
The women, baskets poised above their brows,
In long array beneath the citron boughs.

Drive on the loaded mules with sound of bells,
That, in the distance, of their presence tells,
To springs that, hid from the pursuing day,
Love only Night; who, loving them, doth stay
In the deep waters, moss and reed o'ergrown,

Or cold in caverns of the chilly stone,

Sought of the steep-built towns, whose white walls gleam
High 'midst the woods, or close by ocean's stream.

Like flowering aloes, the fair belfries soar

O'er houses clustered on the sandy shore;
From ancient battlements the eye surveys
A hundred lofty peaks and curving bays,
From where, at morn and eve, the sun may paint
The cliffs of Corsica with colours faint;

To where the fleets of haughty Genoa plied

The trade that humbled the Venetian's pride,

And the blue wastes, where roamed the men who came

To leaguer tower and town with sword and flame.

For by that shore, the scene of soft repose

When happy Peace her benison bestows,

Have storms, more dire than Nature's, lashed the coasts,

When met the tides of fierce contending hosts;

From the far days when first Liguria's hordes
Stemmed for a while the rush of Roman swords,
Only to mark how, on their native hill,
Turbia's trophy stamped the tyrant's will;

To those bright hours that saw the Moslem reel
Back from the conflict with the Christian steel.
These last were times when, emulous for creed,
And for his soul to battle and to bleed,
The warrior had no need of pilgrim's vow,

At eastern shrines, to lay the Paynim low;

For through the west, the Saracen had spread
The night that followed where his standards led.

Shortly after the issue of this volume the Marquis was made a member of Her Majesty's Privy Council. In 1877 the Marquis again appeared as an author and published "The Psalms, literally rendered in verse," a work which throughout exhibits skilful treatment. In July of the following year his Lordship succeeded Lord Dufferin as Governor General of the Dominion of Canada, and Commandant in Chief of Prince Edward's Island. Shortly after this appointment he was created a Knight of the Most Distinguished Order of St. Michael and St. George. Accompanied by Her Royal Highness the Princess Louise, he proceeded to Canada in November, where they had a most enthusiastic reception. Five years of exceptional activity were spent in the Dominion, during which time he travelled through the length and breadth of that extensive and flourishing country. Everywhere His Excellency met with the most cordial greetings, addresses of welcome poured in and

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speeches were delivered in reply on the social, political, and educational questions of the day, notably at M'Gill University, Montreal, and the University of Queen's College, Kingston. The latter University conferred on the Governor General, the Honorary Degree of Doctor of Laws. Lord Lorne sailed for England at the expiration of his term of office in 1883, and the following year published "Memories of Canada and Scotland," London: Sampson, Low & Co. For the past few years the Marquis of Lorne has taken but little part in political life. At the urgent and unanimous request of the Unionist party in Bradford, he will however at the next General Election contest the Central Division of that town for Parliamentary honours, and we venture to think the noble Marquis has every prospect of success. His Lordship's latest contribution to literature is a volume of verse entitled "Rome," London: T. Ogilvie Smith, 1888. It must not be supposed that the volumes mentioned in this brief memoir of the Marquis embody the whole of his literary productions, for scattered through the pages of numerous journals and periodicals will be found many a sketch in prose and verse from his Lordship's prolific pen.

Mon-Daw-Min;

OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE INDIAN-CORN.

CHERRY bloom and green buds bursting
Fleck the azure skies;

In the spring wood, hungering, thirsting,
Faint an Indian lies.

"For man's welfare guide my being,

So I shall not die

Like the flow'rets, fading, fleeing,
When the snow is nigh.

"Medicine from the plants we borrow,
Salves from many a leaf;
May they not kill hunger's sorrow,
Give with food relief?"

Suddenly a spirit shining

From the sky came down,

Green his mantle, floating, twining,
Gold his feather crown.

"I have heard thy thought unspoken;
Famous thou shalt be:

Though no scalp shall be the token,
Men shall speak of thee.

"Bravely borne, men's heaviest burden Ever lighter lies;

Wrestling with me, win the guerdon;

Gain thy wish, arise!"

Now he rises, and, prevailing,
Hears the angel say:

"Strong in weakness, never failing,

Strive yet one more day.

"Now again I come, and find thee

Yet with courage high,

So that, though my arms can bind thee, Victor thou, not I.

"Hark! to-morrow, conquering, slay me,

Blest shall be thy toil:

After wrestling, strip me, lay me

Sleeping in the soil.

"Visit oft the place; above me

Root out weeds and grass;

Fast no more; obeying, love me;
Watch what comes to pass."

Waiting through the long day dreary,

Still he hungers on ;

Once more wrestling, weak and weary,
Still the fight is won.

MARQUIS OF LORNE.

Stripped of robes and golden feather,
Buried lies the guest:

Summer's wonder-working weather
Warms his place of rest.

Ever his commands fulfilling,
Mourns his victor friend,
Fearing, with a heart unwilling,
To have known the end.

No! upon the dark mould fallow
Shine bright blades of green;
Rising, spreading, plumes of yellow
O'er their sheaves are seen.

Higher than a mortal's stature
Soars the corn in pride;

Seeing it, he knows that Nature
There stands deified.

"'Tis my friend," he cries, "the guerdon
Fast and prayer have won;

Want is past, and hunger's burden

Soon shall torture none."

The Strong Bunter

201

THERE'S a warrior hunting o'er prairie and hill,
Who in sunshine or starlight is eager to kill,

Who ne'er sleeps by his fire on the wild river's shore,
Where the green cedars shake to the white rapids' roar.

Ever tireless and noiseless, he knows not repose,
Be the land filled with summer, or lifeless with snows;
But his strength gives him few he can count as his friends,
Man and beast fly before him wherever he wends.

For he chases alike every form that has breath,
And his darts must strike all,-for that hunter is Death!
Lo! a skeleton armed, and his scalp-lock yet streams
From this vision of fear of the Iroquois' dreams!