of the Sea, in this her day of desolation. Certain passages, however, we cannot refrain from inserting.

How gorgeous still, even in decay, is the famed church of St. Mark :

'San Marco is a temple, where all arts and styles and tastes and beauties seem united in one exquisite whole. Like the enamelled illuminations on the pages of an antique manuscript, all, though gorgeous and glowing, is subdued and kept down into such perfect harmony, that in the general effect, there might seem rather an absence of brilliancy than a redundancy of ornament: yet every part of St. Marco is adorned with the most elaborate care, every nook and corner, every projection and cornice, every capital and pillar, every roof and wall, and not an outline but is jagged with fretted carving. Gold, azure, crimson, flash in the bright rays that dart down upon them from the pure blue sky, against which each lovely form is sharply traced.

Arabian, Grecian, Byzantine ideas combine with German thought, and all is mingled like a web of every colour intertwined with gold and silver St. Marco is like a rich sunset in the Alps, where there is a blending of hues and tints, over which a golden haze is thrown, softening and subduing the glory which would be otherwise too intense.

:

'It seems as if Venice with all her Doges had existed only for the purpose of creating this immortal fabric, that while it rose their splendours kept pace with it, and when they fell the spell-bound temple sank gradually with them. Alas! it appears as if San Marco were indeed sinking into the sea on which it stands, for the mosaic flooring is irregular like its waves, and fearful are the ravages which time and flood have wrought upon its jewelled pavement, every cube of which is as precious, in the eyes of taste, as the pearls in the ear of the fugitive Jessica.

'Well may this unrivalled fane be called La Chiesa aurea; there is not a morsel of the roof, the walls, the floor, the exterior, or the interior, that does not present a miracle of art and beauty in painting, sculpture, goldsmith's work, marble, bronze, silver, and precious

stones.'

Here is a tribute, and we doubt not a well-deserved one, to the memory of Byron:

'On Midsummer day the weather was the most delightful imaginable: warm, sunny, clear, and fresh, and it was with infinite pleasure that I took my place in a gondola at the foot of the hotel stairs, where stood to assist us two important characters; one a black who had been in Lord Byron's service, and is now devoted to that of his countrymen, being the most intelligent, good-natured, civil, and honest of his class; speaking several languages-English in particular-well, and possessing a variety of useful accomplishments. The other personage, a tall, welldressed and remarkably respectable-looking old man, followed us into the gondola, having been engaged as our guide during our stay in the watery city he had also lived with Byron, and in common with all who speak of him, seemed to have a tender recollection of his generosity and benevolence. No doubt it is well ascertained by this time that

the English love and expect to hear of Byron at Venice, as they do of Romeo and Juliet at Verona, and many anecdotes are doubtless invented by the acute Italians to amuse and please them, but I think there is no mistaking the genuine feeling of regard which he has inspired in all those who knew him: his name seems always to awaken recollections of some amiable action, and the traits in his character recorded are usually of that melancholy kind which endears him to the imaginative people amongst whom he lived for three years, dispensing his bounty with an unsparing hand.'

Again ;-the scene is on the Lido

'I walked down close to the waves, and looked over the dreary and solemn expanse, and along the flat and unbroken shore where, day after day, the greatest poet of his age, alone and full of moody musings, would ride rapidly backwards and forward as far as the tide permitted, from this spot to a ruined church at the extremity of the Lido. The picture was sad in the extreme, and no one could contemplate it without feeling the deepest compassion for the unfortunate genius, who, under the influence, as it were, of an evil star, wasted away his life in sullen regrets and unavailing fretfulness, creating his own miseries, and unsoothed by a single home comfort. If ever the world of shadows were revealed to mortal eye, it is here, along the dismal coast of the Lido, that one might expect to see, at gloomy evening, the figure of the wild horseman, his dark eyes flashing through the mist, his arms tossed impatiently towards the lowering sky, while his fiery steed, urged by his menacing voice, scours along the sands, and disappears from view in the distance towards the low lands of Malamocco. A boy met us on the sands with bouquets of fresh carnations, which I gladly accepted as a memorial, though nothing could be less in character than these glowing flowers and the desolate shore, divested of every appearance of cultivation. I picked up a few common shells and a dry star-fish as more appropriate to the spot, for they reminded me of a French author's simile, which I could not but apply to the poet,

"Whose image would not be forgot;"

I am deserted and desolate-abandoned on the solitary shore, like a star-fish which the retreating waves have left behind."

. Our guide told us that Byron, after his melancholy ride, would frequently pass his evenings at the theatre and in parties where his society was greatly coveted-" For," said he, "he was very attractive, very amiable, and molto bello." Strange that to all his dependants he uniformly appeared "amiable"!-this man described him as extremely generous, and doing continual acts of benevolence.'

Our last extract is a scene on the Giudecca, a fit illustration of Prout, or Stanfield, or Turner, in the days of his true fame:

The sun went down brilliantly, the heat was great, but there was every now and then a refreshing breeze, which cooled the air, as we rowed backwards and forwards along the Giudecca, surrounded by all those fairy objects which make this place a scene of wonders. The

gorgeous churches of San Giorgio and il Redentore, rose as if at once out of the deep green transparent waters; and the Zitelli, a school for young girls, presented its line of building glowing in the golden light. The lead covered domes of the church of la Salute, were touched, on the other hand, with a pale blue lurid light, for the reflection of a thundercloud was over them; every part of this magnificent building was clearly defined against the mass of dark clouds which formed the background, and so singular was the effect produced by the lights and shades, that it seemed as if a sheet of snow had fallen and rested on the roof of shining silver which pierced the air every marble pillar, and every step of the long flight before the church, came brightly out as they dipped into the sea at their feet. Beyond this, towards the Palazzo Nuevo, the sky was all rich orange and yellow and rose colour, the last soft tint being reflected over the wide Lagune to the buildings opposite, and dwelling on the red towers of the Islands: every sail shone crimson in the ruddy glow, or caught the blue phosphoric tint, which divided the hues of the atmosphere.

Towards the Piazzetta, where the golden yellow ended, and a soft pale green sunk into the still bright blue, day's reign seemed lingering to the last; here the lion of St. Mark, and St. Theodore, each on their exalted pillars, were defined sharply, and the Doge's palace lifted up its lace-work parapets, shewing the fragile embroidery which has outlasted ages, and all the glories of the merchant monarchs of time-conquered Venice. A rainbow rose over all, spanning the Giudecca from side to side, now brighter, now paler, and tinging every object with its colours.'

Here we close this attractive volume, without pursuing the author's route towards Switzerland through the Tyrol, where she gleaned much that will be read with interest. We need not repeat the commendation we have bestowed, for our extracts will have spoken for themselves. A pleasanter book for travellers bound to the north of Italy it would be difficult to find; it is well got up, and is adorned with some good illustrations.

The Speech of the Right Hon. Lord Stanley in the House of Lords, on Monday, May 25, 1846.

The Speeches of the Marquis of Granby and B. Disraeli, Esq., in the House of Commons, on the third Reading of the Corn Importation Bill. London: Ollivier.

SIX agitating and eventful months have rolled away since we called upon the great country party of England to review carefully their position, and, not content with a blind adherence to the present Corn Laws on the one hand, or a hopeless reliance on a Conservative ministry on the other, to vindicate their ancestral right to be the leaders of the people, and surround themselves with that confidence which a people's faith accords to recognized honour alone. We then declared our own opinion to be favourable to a fixed duty on corn, and all the long debates that have since consumed the winter and the spring have but confirmed that judgment, nor do we yet despair of seeing this present strife between the two great national elements, Agriculture and Manufactures, settled by the imposition in a new parliament of a moderate fixed duty. We say a new parliament,' because those who enforced with such ability the view we have presumed to take on the Corn Laws, in the House of Commons, were subjected both by Sir Robert Peel and by Mr. M'Geachey to the imputation of affecting to regard the present House of Commons as morally incompetent to repeal, but fully entitled materially to alter, the existing system of protection. Now we asserted, and what is more important, those in parliament to whom Mr. M'Geachey addressed himself, asserted no such paradox. Lord Clive in one house, Lord Carnarvon in the other, refused broadly to entertain the consideration of any important change in the present parliament, and regarding the honour of public men, whether Ministers or members of Parliament, as far more important and precious to the nation than a repeal of the Cornlaws in 1846, threw the whole weight of their character and station into the balance of the opposition. We affirm that they did so rightly, and as reason after reason-is it harsh to say rather— as pretext after pretext was picked out of the great budget of excuses that the Prime Minister unfolded in defence of his conduct, and demolished by the arguments of eloquence, or the eloquence of facts, we rejoiced that those with whom we sympathize in both houses of parliament, with a very few exceptions, took that course, and vindicated it by arguments that hardly left an assailable point of attack for their opponents. Sliding scales may be abolished, duties may be remitted, prohibition may be changed

into free admission, protection may be raised again to prohibition, but entertaining the views we entertain on the Corn Laws we say the "how" is far more important than the "what." Placing on one side, then, all considerations of the probable commercial and social results of free trade in corn, we venture to approach a yet more delicate and a higher subject-the political future of English gentlemen.

They cannot now, if they would, shrink back into the ranks of Conservatism, or the retirement of private life. With a great hold on the public mind, with developed talent, with parliamentary strength greater than that of any other party, with the sympathy of a large body of the working people, with the prestige of great names, and above all, with the attributes of integrity and honour admitted to be theirs by their bitterest foes,-the Country Party have solemn duties to perform for futurity, of which no conduct during the past can justify the non-fulfilment. Can then those duties be satisfied by a reorganization of the so-called Conservative Party under Sir Robert Peel, and if they cannot, what is the course the Country Party should pursue? We are prepared, with a deep consciousness of their solemn import, to answer both these questions; and we believe we shall carry with us in our answer, the sympathies of that "New Generation," of which we would fain approve ourselves the mouthpiece. The Marquis of Londonderry, whose gallantry we always admire, though his logic we seldom understand, reminded the House of Lords that in 1829 there were the same denunciations of Peel, the same resolutions formed and announced of separating from him, as we now hear from so many quarters; and prophesied that the present quarrel will end in a similar reconciliation. We are not now concerned with what "will," so much as with what "ought to" be: but we would suggest to the gallant peer, that Sir Robert Peel is seventeen years older now than he was in 1829; and that the repetition of a grave political offence need not necessarily obtain the pardon that may have been awarded to a first fault. It is seldom given to a statesman to play successfully the same part twice; if for no other and better reason, at least for this, that the attempt convicts him of the want of a great and wise originality. We therefore think it foolish to argue from 1829 to 1847. But what ought English gentlemen to do? Ought they, so soon as the Corn Law question is really settled, to rally once more round Sir Robert Peel, or ought they to reject their former chief, and occupy an independent position? In order to arrive at a sound and right conclusion on this vital question, we think it necessary to inquire first of all, what is the reliance that can be placed on Sir Robert Peel's future conduct respecting institutions and principles which we regard as of far greater moment than Corn Laws or Tariffs. Has he clear and