this being succeeded by the mysterious and ravishing music which had heralded its arrival-our fair guide was speeding from us like a meteor, the two golden pigeons playing with it on the way. We remained silent, watching its diminishing brightness, and deeply impressed with the marvels we had seen. How long we may have so remained we know not; but on waking from my reverie, it struck me that the light was grown thicker and the temperature much colder. Intending to ask him if he too noticed this, I glanced at my friend, to find him gazing intently at me, and to be surprised with his appearance. The magnificent beard had shrunken, his eyes were dull, his features irregular, and his stature puny. Before I could speak he said, and his voice grated on my ear, 'Glaisher! you are very ugly. I've been sitting shocked. You're quite a plain man. You're like one of these hideous pre-Raphaelite productions.' In reply to which I remarked, and my tones were those of a bull-frog, 'Well, Coxwell, you're nothing to boast of! I never saw a man so fallen off in my life. A little while ago you were like an angel, now Our mutual unpleasant survey was fortunately interrupted here by Coxwell's springing up like a madman, and shouting, 'Here she comes again! O Glaisher! come quick, and take an observation! What comes again?' I inquired. The old Earth!' he replied. "There she comes again! There are the Americas! Hurrah for the old Earth! Isn't that a sight?' And certainly it was. Here was our native planet coming bowling along in the blue ocean, and plainly recognisable. We long sat, gazing with delighted hearts. "There's Asia!' Coxwell murmured. By-and-by, and ere long, it was my privilege to exclaim, And there's old Europe! Three cheers for old Europe!'-which we gave with a will; and, on its ceasing, we both started to hear a rustling in the pigeon-basket, on looking into which, imagine what I felt on seeing the two creatures exactly what they were when received by us before ascending! In our consequent amazement, there was such a complete silence that we both heard our watches loudly ticking, and, on consulting them, were bewildered to find that we had only been an hour or two away. 'By George!' were Coxwell's first words, 'I'm immensely hungry!' adding, with a kind of hysterical laugh, 'hand over the sandwiches'-which I did, for they were there! 'You'd better take an observation,' said my friend, 'in the place the bottle was;' and acting on the suggestion, I lifted it out and uncorked it! Strengthened by an application to these, we both now resumed our various labours-I with my instruments, and my companion with his balloon; and, as our descent was rapid, we, in a very short time, and without much difficulty, landed safely at Wolverhampton, where none of the pigeons we had despatched had returned when I left on the afternoon of the 6th. It would seem, from this ascent, that five miles from the earth is very nearly the limit of human existence. But the height to which fancy may carry us remains to be ascertained by future observations. RIVERS. BY MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND. "Thou didst cleave the earth with rivers."-Habakkuk, c. iii, v. 9. He cleaves the Earth with Rivers!-bright, bounding, fresh, and free; Or creeping, dark and sluggish, to meet the restless sea. With caps of cloud, and hoary locks, and mien of dumb command Hide tarns that never see the sun, and persevering rills, The shy wildfowl, in silence bold, athwart the streamlet skims; By frost, that, in the shorten'd days, the brooklet chains to earth A mystic music, lingering, seems beside the stream to float- HE cleaves the earth with rivers! and on their margins rise Though aims fall short, and men despair, and means are mix'd and frail; So that the traffic marts jut out in some unsightly way, While monuments to Mammon raised are somewhat overtall! HE cleaves the earth with rivers! but, near the haunts of man, stream Which leaps to kiss your burly sides, that bask in sunny gleam? There rises oft, in Fancy's realm, the thought that yet they bear The Great Sea grasps the Rivers' lore, with all its own combined, The right of translation reserved by the Authors. Contributions addressed to the Editor will receive attention; but, as a general rule, he cannot undertake to return MSS. considered unsuitable. Edited, Printed, and Published by JAMES HEDDERWICK, 13 Red Lion Court, Fleet-Street, LONDON, E.C.; and 32 St. Enoch-Square, GLASGOW. Sold by all Booksellers. any other country in Europe. Trodden to the dust by the tyrannies of her many domestic and foreign oppressors, the character of her people deteriorated in due ratio. True, ever and anon fitful gleams of earnestness, free outlookings, and noble deeds, would tell that the heart of Italy was throbbing still. But beyond these spasmodic signs of life-reminding one of the movements of a galvanised corpse rather than of the awakened vigour of a long-dormant nationItaly, till of late years, gave the world little reason to hope that a time would come when once more she would assert her right to a place in the free councils of Europe. With the Austrians in Venice; an effete if wellmeaning Pope, ruined by his evil adviser Antonelli, in Rome; and a Bourbon on the throne of Naples, Italy's prospects in 1860 were not reassuring. When, on the 10th of May of that year, Garibaldi and his thousand leaped on the shore of Marsala, there were not wanting hundreds of quidnuncs-sensible people, too, in their way to vaticinate from that expedition the direst results possible to the cause of Italian liberty. 'Garibaldi,' said they, is a wild adventurer; a few thousand, more or less, of ragged volunteers will melt away like snow in sunshine before the organised forces of an established Government; and even if for a while the insurgents make head at all, their efforts will only further the objects of anarchists, and set an evil example to the rest of Italy, by inciting men to attempt that which cannot be accomplished in our time;'-and Thus people prattled. L'homme propose et Dieu dispose! We all know what happened. so on. the flat of his sword at Melazzo; but who now, after many hardships, were as brave a band of reckless little heroes as any who marched under Garibaldi's orders. Calmly patronising these ragged soldiers of the Liberator, you might have seen here and there a few of the spruce Sardinian Bersaglieri-with their oil-skin hats, cocks' feathers, and bold, free facesthe best men in Victor Emmanuel's service; and then, next to these-among them, but not of them -you would have seen the lowering brows and serpent-like glances of sundry scoundrels, ex-spies and ex-sbirri, who for years had wrought out the evil will of old King Bomba, Francis II.'s father; and who now, for all that, were cringing to the new power, and seeking to ingratiate themselves with the honest Garibaldini. It was sickening to hear these panders of tyranny yelling out 'vivas!' in honour of a liberty they feared but could not appreciate, and drinking toasts to Italia Una in every café and liquorista's shop in Naples! There were rich Neapolitan 'gentlemen,' too-Heaven save the mark !—there that day swelling the plaudits of free mengentlemen' who had made merchandise of their corruption under the sway of the Bourbons; gentlemen who had played the spy on their own fathers and brothers, and who wore decorations as badges of their infamy. They would have yelled Morte à Garibaldi! the next day, if they could have obtained a sixpence by it, and have saved a skinful of broken bones -so debased, so venal, so utterly without conscience,' are many of this Neapolitan race, too long demoralised by dark despotism and priestly thrall; and this in the land most gifted by Nature of all the bright spots on God's goodly earth. Every now and then, barefooted venders of copper medals would solicit your purchase of one lately manufactured, and sold for two or three baiocchi, with a bad In May, Garibaldi landed at Marsala. At the beginning of September, he entered Naples;--for men were by this time weary of a tyranny which neither God nor man could longer abide. There was a brave sight outside the Palazzo Angri, in the fair city of Naples, at the beginning of September 1860. A joy-likeness of Garibaldi on one side, inscribed-G. Gariful mob were there to be seen, swaying to and fro like the waves of the Mediterranean under the influence of a 'stiff Levanter.' From the fashionable marchesa, in her white dress trimmed with pink and white, to the yelling fruit-sellers-almost every one in Naples seemed to be there to do honour to the hero of Marsala. For a change had come;-the Bourbon dynasty, accursed of God and man, was over; and Giuseppe Garibaldi, gentleman farmer of Caprera and Dictator of the Two Sicilies, reigned in its stead. baldi, Dittatore; and, on the other, his simple words, which will ring like a knell through men's ears when the gallant heart and restless brain of that devoted patriot are mouldering in the grave. These are the words-(the medal is lying on my desk now, and Garibaldi is lying, such are life's chances and changes -a cripple at Varignano):-Italiani, io voglio l'indipendenza e l'unita della nostra patria. What followed is matter of history:-The battle on the Volturno, when the Neapolitans were driven It was a great day for the Redshirts, who seemed back into their stronghold of Capua; the arrival of just then to leaven by their presence every group of that unhappily-officered, insubordinate, but thonoisy shouters of 'vivas!' as, standing under the roughly 'plucky' English legion; the bombardment palazzo windows, they discoursed, in their soft, li- of Capua by the Sardinian artillery, and its surrenquid dialects, of freedom hardly won; of hard knocks | der after a few hours' inglorious defence. Everybody freely given and taken; and, most of all, of him who knows these things. Everybody does not know the had led them in one track of glory on from Marsala terrible hardships which the raw soldiery of Garito fair, fickle Naples. There might have been seen baldi, delicately-nurtured gentlemen though many the sturdy little Zouave volunteers, in their fez caps, of them weree-I refer especially to the Italian Garifraternising with the grim, gaunt Hungarian hussars, baldians rather than to those of any other nationwith their proud, stern faces, and thorough soldiers' underwent, without a murmur, for the cause of Italia set-up. Then you would catch the half-intelligible, Una, and that unanointed king of men, Giuseppe Galisping patois of the Picciotti-the boy-volunteers-ribaldi; nor is it any part of my purpose to dwell some of whom Dunne had actually to urge on with on that at present. Neither does everybody know support, all who know the real character of Victor Emmanuel know well. Ere Marsala, in 1860, Victor Emmanuel apparently threw cold water on Garibaldi's plans, and then backed and profited by them. Had not Garibaldi grounds for expecting the like again in 1862? that, with all the 'vivas!' and all the mad enthusiasm were not prepared to merit the title of King Honest in favour of Garibaldi and freedom in Naples, there| Man,' given him by Italy. That 'Rome or Death!' was then, as there is now, a strong Bourbon party-Garibaldi's cry-received the King of Italy's moral -hating the Piedmontese to the death; ay, tenfold stronger than newspaper readers wot of-ready to take advantage of the least opportunity for reaction in Naples. Everybody does not know, either, the many petty jealousies (any of which might just then have been fraught with the most serious consequences to the cause) existing between the officers of the Garibaldian army, which nothing but Gen. Türr's savoir faire and Garibaldi's sweetness of disposition could possibly have allayed. This was one dark side of the campaign of 1860. See another. On the 8th of November 1860, after Capua had surrendered; after the Sardinians had taken possession thereof, and installed themselves in the city of Naples also; after Garibaldian volunteers had been studiously snubbed, as far as was safely practicable, by the Piedmontese incoming heroes; after Victor Emmanuel as a king, and Garibaldi as a subject in an old red shirt, had entered the Church of San Gennaro, of blood-liquefying notoriety, together; after all manner of back-stair dirty work, and tortuous political 'double shuffle,' the ex-Dictator of the Two Sicilies, the day following the said visit to the shrine of San Gennaro, left Naples. Those who saw him go away that dull morning on board the 'Washington,' will not easily forget the scene, nor the feeling it engendered in the minds of many men who would have shed their blood like water at one gesture of Garibaldi's hand. As the 'Washington' steamed out to sea, deep and hearty were the muttered curses on the new dynasty. Victor Emmanuel had received, at the hands of the farmer of Caprera, nine millions of new subjects. Yet Garibaldi was allowed to leave the bay of Naples without one gun firing a parting salute in his honour. As he left, the booming of the morning guns was heard saluting the rising sun and Victor Emmanuel! These things are remembered yet in Naples, and the memory of them stifles many a 'viva' for Il Re Galantuomo. Come we now to Aspromonte, and the doings of that ill-starred day, in September 1862, when Garibaldi-ill-advised in his efforts to free Rome from the incubus of an effete Papal Government-was shot down by the bullets of the Piedmontese free men opposed to him, acting under the orders of Signor Urban Ratazzi, with the hearty approval of Napoleon III-ex-Carbonaro of years gone by, ex-President of the French Republic 'one and indivisible,' originator of the coup d'état, victor of Magenta and Solferino, concocter of the peace of Villafranca, and annexer of Savoy. Perhaps, after all, it was as well that the Bersaglieri bullets flew like hail that day, till Garibaldi was bleeding and a prisoner. Had Garibaldi been allowed to go on, he might perhaps have failed; or, what in Ratazzian ideas was more awful still, have embroiled the Sardinian and French Governments. God only knows. But one fact remains, and Italy's heart feels it-Victor Emmanuel had no right to take upon himself the reins of government, if he The amnesty'-too tardily granted, and naturally enough refused by Garibaldi-has made Victor Emmanuel more unpopular than ever. The lickspittle, Napoleonic toadyings of Ratazzi have set against him not only the Garibaldian and Mazzinian factionsand, remember, the two parties are quite distinct— but have alienated from him the love of all the truest and most earnest hearts in Italy beside. From Pola to Capri, there is not one true Italian who would not rather be in Garibaldi's place-a wounded cripplethan on the thorny seat of King Victor Emmanuel. Look at the state of Naples now. What is there? Brigandage, as the Piedmontese call a fact which is something far more deadly than mere unorganised plunderings; internecine hatreds; jealousies innumerable; fifty split-up political parties, ready to fly at each other's throats. There is the Muratist faction, ripe for revolt and French intrigue; the old Absolutist party, crouching, cowardly, but ready any moment for whatever butchery and rascality may be put in hand. There is militating against Victor Emmanuel's ever holding Naples in peace this fact-that the two races, Piedmontese and Neapolitan, are probably more opposed to each other in every thought, feeling, and interest, than any other two races in such close relations on earth. The Neapolitan-debased as he is-detests and despises the stern northern Piedmontese, whom he calls in his everyday talkspitting on the floor meanwhile-a savage and a goitred idiot. The Piedmontese looks upon the Neapolitan in much the same way as the late East India Company's officers regarded the natives of India; with quite as good reasons. Neapolitan trade, too, has greatly suffered under Piedmontese sway. The influx of brisk, bustling Genoese traders into Naples of late has put the lounging, idle Neapolitan quite out of his stride; and the latter suffers by such competition. The cruelties-and these have been very many-of the Piedmontese régime, in nowise improve the case. Turn to Venice. The Venetians hate Victor Emmanuel as they love Garibaldi. Il Re Galantuomo, say they, has deceived them. Is Venice forgotten? they are ever asking bitterly. The iron heels of Austria's soldiers still clatter on the pavement of St. Mark's. Are all promises of emancipation but idle breath? Is Victor Emmanuel merely a vassal of Napoleon III.? In Piedmont, popular as is the bluff son of Charles Albert, there is nevertheless a strong ultra-national party, who hate him for ceding, two years ago, the heritage of his ancestors-beautiful Savoy-to a Bonaparte. I heard the two cursed together; my interlocutor spoke a patois in which French predominated. That Garibaldi is no statesman, is obvious. Perhaps God does not make statesmen out of such honest clay as his. Que scais-je? as said old Montaigne. That the patriot's dream touching the independence and unity of Italy will never be realised in our day, if ever, I sadly believe. Victor Emmanuel is not the man for the situation, now that the Titan brain of Cavour is at rest. Italy will never forgive the Piedmontese for Aspromonte-foolish as Garibaldi may have been there to tempt fate. Louis Napoleon will never suffer all Italy to become one united kingdom. If Victor Emmanuel secured Rome on the withdrawal of French bayonets, some other French annexation scheme would inevitably dog the heels of such a possession. Lately it was Savoy and Nice; then it would be the island of Sardinia, or perhaps the kingdom of Naples, or more probably such a tract of territory as would put the French within an hour and a-half of the gates of Turin. The public has lately learned, on the authority of a writer in Blackwood doubtless well 'posted-up,' that, 'On Tuesday the 15th of May-we can state Lord Cowley was sent for to the Tuileries, where he found the Emperor attended by his Minister for Foreign Affairs—M. de Thouvenel. The Emperor said "It was necessary there should be no misunderstand ing on the part of Her Majesty's Government as to the change which Garibaldi's expedition (to Naples) might effect in the policy of France. He had frankly warned the Sardinian Government of the consequences. The principle which he had recently laid down (in the case of Savoy and Nice) must again be applied, in the event of further annexations being made to Sardinia. The balance of power again disturbed, must, in the case of France at least, again be redressed by the territorial extension of the Empire. The warning which he had given to the Sardinian Government he would now give to Her Majesty's. He was anxious that there should be no misapprehension as to his policy and intentions." Cassandra-like croakings are generally unpopular, and seldom believed. But it needs no Cassandra to foretell that a breach between France and Sardinia, a probable imbroglio between England and France consequent thereon, and a general European war, are any day on the cards-should the French march out of Rome, the Piedmontese march in; and should Louis Napoleon thereon demand the island of Sardinia, or Naples, Sicily, or a tract of country extending from the last acre of French ground in Savoy up to or beyond Susa.* In the meantime, like Duriarte in the cave of Montesinos, all we can say is, 'Patience; and shuffle the cards.' That the knave for some time will always turn uppermost, is certain. That, so long as Ratazzi continues in power, Italian freedom is but a hollow phantom, is equally so. That, so soon as Garibaldi shall have recovered the use of his limb and his health (that is, in the event of Rome's being then held by the French, which is perhaps improbable), we shall hear his cry, Rome or Death! with or without Victor Emmanuel-taken up this time by The pass of Susa, about thirty miles from Turin, opening its defile at the foot of the Cottian Alps, in bygone years obtained the name of 'La Chiave d'Italia,' or 'The Key of Italy.' millions of Italians-is as certain as that fire burns or gunpowder explodes at a lighted torch. Then we may have a chance of secing the Austrians driven out of Venice; and the Papal temporal power-that ghost of old Rome, sitting crowned on the grave thereof,' to borrow Hobbes' striking figure-as a thing of nought. But, alas! Europe ere now has seen a Pope driven out of Rome by French bayonets, only to be brought back once more at the tail of of her five brazen gates-the pride of the city-and them. French plunderers ere now have robbed Venice stuck them up in Paris. We may see the like again ere we die; and an exchange of French for Austrian oppressors would be but cold comfort to the Venetians. der and shot, strong arms, and stout hearts; but in The greatest hope of Italian unity lies not in powthe spread of education and the force of knowledge. Centuries of spiritual darkness and political pococuranteism-if I may coin the word for the noncehave done despots' work too well. 'Light! more light!' of freemen. Then may Italian unity be something is now Italy's cry. Let but the pen help the sword more than a chimera a political Moloch demanding the sacrifice of the best young blood in the country. Then may Cavour's dreams be realised in some part; and Italy, if not united in one great monarchy, be at least, with her several federal republics, free from the Alps to the Adriatic. But blood must flow, hearts must ache, and political Tartuffes live, lie, and pass away ere that shall be. God is hastening that hour in his own good time, though men's error-blinded eyes, and impatient hearts burning hot within them, warp their judgments, and make many of Italy's this article be better closed than in Milton's noble wisest men but sorry political atheists. How can words in the Arcopagitica,' addressed to the Par liament of England in 1644, and none the less ap plicable to Italy now? Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a locks. Methinks I see her as an eagle renewing her strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam; purging and unscaling her long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flock ing birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means.' |