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are passages of rare beauty to be met with in it.
One in particular seems new, fragrant, and glow-
ng. A banquet and ball have been given by
Maud's father, to which the hero has not been
invited ; but in promise of meeting him when
the festal bands are gone, she drops a rose-bud
in the rivulet, which wafts it to his feet. He
waits for, and, while waiting, thus apostrophises
her :

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come-into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are es afted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high,
-Beginning to faint in the light that she loves,
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and .to die.

All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon ;
All night has the casement jessamine stirred
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, " There is but one
With whom she has heart to he gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone ?

She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and load on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
0 young lord-lover' what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine ?
- But mine, but mine," so i sware to the rose,
"For ever and ever, mine."

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
• And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree ;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed ou the lea ;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me ;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one ;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate ;
.The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near ;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late ;"
The larkspur listens, " I hear, I hear ;"
And the lily whispers, " I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet :
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed ;
My dust would hear her and heat,
Had I lain for a century dead ;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

This is the point on which the catastrophe
turns. The brother, who is typified by Mr. Tenny-
son somewhat singularly as an " Assyrian bull,"
beccmes acquainted with the intended meeting,
appears at the garden gate, insults and strikes
his sister's lover. This gives rise to the duel
already referred to, with its doubly fatal con,

sequences. As a whole, this volume will not
elevate its author to a higher pedestal than that
on which he previously stood, and some may
even doubt whether it will even do much to
sustainhim in the proud position he had previously
attained ; yet it breathes a freshness and natural-
ness 'of passion, and is adorned with 'so many
simple graces, and enriched with so much of
lustrous beauty, that it is welcome, doubly wel-
come, as a contrast to the horde of pretentious
rubbish which late years have thrown upon the
world under the lofty name of poetry.

The War, from the Landing at Gallipoli to the
Death of Lord Raglan. By W. H. Russell.
London : Routledge and Co.
This volume is a reprint of the ably-written
and widely-read letters which, from time to time,
appeared in the columns of the Times newspaper,
from the intrepid and well-qualified correspondent
of that journal at the seat of war. Such a volume,
though invaluable as a diary of events, accom-
panied by off-hand remarks on those events, as ,
they appeared to an intelligent observer, is
valuable in a high degree. It may well be doubted,
however, whether the abundant publicity the let-
ters acquired in the piecemeal freshness of their
original publication, was not in itself sufficient to
ensure all the purposes for which they were
written. In that form and manner they testified
abundantly to the assiduity, skilful observation,,
and fearless independence of their author. His
integrity of narrative and purpose received ample
and appalling confirmation from individuals not
likely to step out of their way for the purpose of
corroborating Mr. Russell in his statements.
Above all, their efficacy in leading to a correction
of those errors, mistakes, and abuses, which, he
was the unwilling though voluntary denouncer of,
was such as to have fully secured for them and
him all the honour and all the dignity to which,
in their present shape, they can lay claim. In
this view of the case, it may well be made a
question, how fir their present publication was
called for. As a literary work it will rather lessen
than extend his fame. As a man wielding and
ably wielding the pen of a ready writer, he already
stood so high as to need no adventitious aid, and
adventitious aid.alone is all his reputation in that
respect can gain from the re-issue of his letters.
Had he delayed the publication till time and con-
venience enabled him to lay before the world a
systematized narrative of the events he was wit-
ness to, and the results which have arisen from
them, his great ability, shrewdness, and abundant
opportunities of tracing effects to their causes
would have enabled him to render valuable service
to his country, in the way both of precept and
example. This would also have enabled him to
do more justice to his reputation as a man of
letters and reflection, than the mode he has
adopted. The choice of delay and permanent
value;or of celerity and evanescent fame, was within
his reach, and he has chosen the latter ; the issue
he has challenged he may yet regret. The world
having already and so recently passed a favour-
able judgment on his labours in the character
under which they appeared, those labours call for
no further present remark than the expression of
a hope, that they may meet with a large share of
that reward which he seems to think, and pro-
bably with justice, as preferable to fame.

The History of England, from the Accession of
George 111. to the Accession of Queen Victoria.
By the Rev. T. S. Hughes, 8.D., late Canon
of Peterborough. London : George Bell.
This admirable reprint of the continuation of
Hume and Smollett, with which it is printed uni-
formly, has now reached the sixth volume of its

monthly issue, and still
for elegance and - accural
which it started. Two, :
plete the series, and presk
tit:mous-history of Englank
Julius Caesar almost to tit
edition, which is very el,
with a profusion of beau:
tire engravings, is tasteful 7
at a price so moderate-
within the reach of all clai
of the present work brisk
the end of 1815, closing.
state of literature and the
period.
The Dublin University
James M'G

The Dublin, for Angus
paper, " The-Rail in Cana,
review is presented of the
in. relation to the governm
dian possessions. The rer
is rather to elucidate the
the colony than to illustr
ways within its boundaries
than incidentally touch,
.article is a, continuation
mirable series, " The Drama,
land," in which the thew
author's well-known zeal
taste. This series, when
valuable addition to the
land, and a scarcely less
to the more voluminous ecti
It is well conceived and ably 03
t) •
this
,paper succeeds a capital a fdi toy
essay on " Our Sea Songs: at
Sept 0,
favourite theme, and. at the Pre'sio'f.cely
peculiarly apposite. In this c,soetiosV
to have been expected, the songs alw,;ico°,,r
ter of Charles Dibden occupy. a eollsreio s,l'
While the essayist gives unmistat-.0.0504
of an earnest desire to do, full .41
questionable merits of many of
strikes us that, unintentional)
bard and the effusions of his ]
unfair and over-severe ordeal.
mates and insists on the men
the songs in question as liter
gards them, in a great degree,.
fidelity and success as literal
we submit is scarcely fair to di'
artists, he is entitled to be estinl
measure, by the success whic,
execution of his design. fib'
to portray the life of a sailoi
man-of-war sailor, in pleasing
the ulterior object being, as
and as his patrons believed, to
volunteers for the royal navYi
unpopular branch of the Pu
object the essayist neither del
but rests his condemnation ni•
rations of the pictures, and di;
literary proprieties. To thos
to take up the cudgels in fa'
lyric poet of high order, Nve c
task of his defence in that
marking that the writer in ,
great and ample justice to t:
spect ; our desire in the pre:
only to protest against his_ 0,"
a count not fairly includeea
e:
The essay referred to is
admirable spirit, although,
founded on the points to. vle%
Besides the papers
tains several of great Ineut
_f tatin
this periodical, its excellence 0
eued by variety of matter
mentio.u,,a►r

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