focation that even now I seem to feel. Rolling uneasily from side to side, now and then a mass of water would strike us on the bow or quarter, or anywhere, with the dull, hollow sound of a wooden hammer, subsiding again with a splash, as if breaking into a thousand fragments; fagged and worn out, the crew huddled under the forecastle, and a chilliness came over me, not from my wet clothes-they were warm to the touch-but as if a foreboding or foreshadowing of some disaster. It was very dark. I held on to the mizen topmast back-stay, and tried to see the helmsman, but couldn't. Thinking, 'can I go down and see how they are?' and wringing the wet out of my coatsleeves, I only shrank and felt cold, suddenly cold, when a voice-I turned not to see whose, said—

"You may take in everything, sir; the wind went away with her; we shall have a quiet day, Mr. Treweeke, to bury Mary.'

"Was it all a dream, old fellow? all a dream?" and, leaning his head on the capstan, I heard him struggling to repress his sobbing.

"Are you tired, or shall I go on?" he said, looking up after a long pause.

"Not tired," I said, " pray go on." He did so, continuing in a kind of reverie.

"How some days above others, with all their minutest events, and even our personal feelings at the moment of their occurrence, fix themselves on the mind, unconsciously exercising an influence on our inner life, and through it partly our outer one! Called up suddenly, in some out-of-the-way place, by a slight coincidence of nature perhaps, if nothing else, the whole of their incidents and their results coming vividly back, the good returning with its good, the evil with its evil, that retaining its sway mostly which has been most cherished in the interval. This beautiful night, and your mention of Procyon, recalled all that memorable voyage, and I feel relief at having told you, what, till has been all my own. Why did I merit such a lasting gift! that the mere com

now,

panionship of a young girl for a few short months should sink so deeply in my heart, and colour all my future with a hopeful radiance, making me strong for work, and braced for trouble, firm for success, and ready for adversity—that even now, telling you all this, I see angelic wings and hear an angel's voice, when trying to pierce the thick oceanic cloud that wraps her in the far-off Eastern sea!

"On board ship, as you know, one cannot retire to a secluded spot and indulge either his grief or joy in quietude. There is always work to be done, and, light heart or heavy heart, there is no shirking it; it must be faced. The day of her death and of the squall, was one of those which, from a mixture of actual work with deep and sad thought, remains graven on the memory, although conscious at the time of having done and seen everything as if in a dream. The squall seemed to have dragged all the turbulence of the sea, and the vapours of the atmosphere, away with it, and left a life-giving warmth and vitality in the air as of a May-day in childhood. A mere thin veil of fleecy clouds rested round the horizon, into which the deep blue of the zenith faded in till it became grey, and this in turn melted into the silvery surface of the sea.

The wind had died completely away, and the throbbing of the ocean's heart after its night's wrestle with the dark spirit that had passed over it, was seen only in long thin black lines that, starting out from the haze, grew firmer and more distinct on their approach, ever rising and falling, gleaming and vanishing, until dying away near us they showed on the other side firmer and more distinct, retreating and sweeping, and bound on their long journey northwards. Every sound jarring on my ear, and acting under some curious idea that it would be more honourable with death on board, I gave the orders to haul all the sails up snugly; so stirless was the air, their flapping and fluttering made it more mournful; and, noting with what a subdued and quiet manner the crew went about the work, I felt pleased

and personally grateful to them when I saw each man and boy had shifted his wet clothes with his best. When we had got everything aloft made as snug as possible, no sound broke the silence save the plashing and surging of the water about the rudder, the creaking of the lower yards on their trusses, and the sullen tap of the carpenter's hammer as he completed the rude coffin that was to hold that fair form. Old Martin and Ursula had never emerged from the cabin, and from my soul I pitied the old man and her at their sad task. This was to be my first burial at sea, and what wonder if strange and undefinable emotions stirred me, when, with the carpenter directing, we raised a platform at the starboard gangway, turning two waterbutts on their ends and placing planks on them with their outer edges on the gunwale? We spread an ensign over all, and our preparations were supposed to be complete. I then went in and asked if I could be of any use. 'No, my lad, no!' the old man said, 'Ursy and I'll manage all-'tisn't for a young lad like you to handle death. You'll read the service over her-about one, I think; and see the men are tidy. You need not work them much to-day!'

"Left to my own reflections, and with the terrible silence all about me, I scarcely think I should have been startled had the sound of that trumpet which

To archangelic lips applied

Shall rouse the heavens, quench the stars,' suddenly burst on us from the blue overhead, and stopt our voyage over the ocean and through life. As it was, my mind seemed to become enlarged, and an awful sense of our own littleness and God's greatness stole over me. I thought of the strange fancy which had led her to choose the ocean for a resting-placeif that could be so-called, where there was no rest; wondered if the coffin would reach the bottom; fancied the strange sea-things staring at it in its descent of its being borne hither and thither, to and fro, in its never-resting progress to decay, until the form once

so shapely and full of beauty becoming part of the great sea itself, its dissevered particles would be borne round and round the world by its ever-throbbing pulsations; and, starting from my reverie, I felt as if my brain wandered.

"Getting the prayer-book, I looked over the portion I should have to read, and tried vainly to think of the mystery attending the changing of our vile body, that it may be like His glorious body.' But I was conscious of some new and strange knowledge stirring in my mind.

"After taking the sun at noon, I ordered one of the boys whenever he saw me coming out from the cabin to commence tolling the bell. It was a sad task for the poor little fellow, and he would willingly have handed it over to some other body; for many a time, I dare say, had a word or smile from her who was gone, made his little heart lighter, and his dull sea-life cheerier. On going into the cabin, I found the carpenter and Old Martin placing her coffin on the table, and, scarcely conscious of the feelings prompting me, motioned to the carpenter to hold on a little. Working up the latitude and longitude, I wrote them on a piece of paper, and put underneath in a firm hand, as if still expecting some one to read it

MARY HAY.

Died at Sea, July 15th, 1844.

F. TREWEEKE,

and tacked it on the inside of the coffinlid. Old Martin then whispered, 'Let the crew have a look, Treweeke; it'll do them good,' and took his own last kiss, with a 'good-bye, Polly.'

"The men and boys, who were all clustered silent and sorrowful at the front of the poop, came in one by one, stole a glance with tear-dazzled eyes on the sweet face-as sometimes happens, far more beautiful in death--and then the carpenter shut all up from our sight. Few there were who looked on then, even so briefly, but took away a thought to last a lifetime. At a wave of the hand from Old Martin, we bore her to the

platform, spread the flag over the coffin, and placed two seats near it for him and the nurse.

"You know our beautiful service for the dead-how it awes and solemnizes even when read in private; but how much more so was it to me to read it aloud, and on such an occasion!. When I began it even the old tars looked grim and moved uneasily, and the youngsters cried heartily. Come to that portion, 'we therefore commit her body to the deep,' a dozen hands stole quietly from the group of the standers by, and, the inner end of the planks being lifted, the coffin slid down into the blue deep, made

a slight musical splash that sounded like a farewell, foamed darkly for a moment, gleamed, then vanished-and she, whom I then knew I had loved, still love, and shall always, had found the grave she had dreamt of, and was gone for ever! -No! not for ever, I thought, when reading on I came to the words, 'when the sea shall give up her dead.'

Here he paused solemnly, and looked up into the starry sky, with a strange smile; then suddenly starting, he warmly clasped my hand, and cried

"I have kept you up late, old fellow; forgive me! Off to your crib, now, and pray before you turn in. Good night!"

THERE is assuredly no lack of regret in England for the present condition of Venetia. The great majority of Englishmen desire the liberation of Italy as a whole; and, if any exception must be made, they would not willingly see that exception fall on a territory which enjoyed an ancient independence within. the memory of men now living, which was deprived of that independence by the foulest means, and which, in 1848 and 1849, displayed in an eminent degree the qualities of patriotism, endurance, and capacity for self-govern

ment.

On

It is felt, however, even by zealous advocates of Italian independence, that the question of Venetia cannot be regarded altogether without reference to the general interests of Europe. the part of Austria it has been loudly contended that her possession of the Quadrilateral is important to the security of Germany from French aggression. An object more vital than this to European welfare or tranquillity could not be suggested, and there is ground to believe that the argument thus put forward has had considerable influence in Germany, and has not been without some effect on public opinion even in England.

We propose to examine here the effect on the peace and welfare of Europe, of the continued retention of Venetia by Austria on the one hand, and of its absorption into the new Italian kingdom on the other. We shall endeavour to elucidate this question, not by speculative or abstract reasoning, but by such considerations as may be supposed to influence the ordinary policy of Kings and Ministers. And we hope to satisfy our readers that, even on these grounds, the separation of Venetia from Austria is as important to the general interests of Germany and Europe, as it is essential to the well-being and contentment of the Venetians themselves.

In considering this question we shall assume that the possession of Venetia can only be valuable to Austria for the sake of that possession itself, or of the defensive positions included in it. It is possible enough that the Emperor of Austria in reality values Venetia and the Quadrilateral chiefly as a desirable basis of operations for hereafter replacing all northern Italy, by force of arms, under his own sway, or the sway of his Ducal Viceroys. But we shall not enter into any discussion concerning the value of Venetia to Austria on this latter ground,

not only because an attempt on the part of Austria to reconquer northern Italy would be condemned by public opinion even in Germany, but moreover because we think the success of such an attempt must be regarded as impossible. A war commenced by Austria for a purpose so destructive of French influence throughout the entire Italian peninsula must inevitably, sooner or later, and on some terms or other, bring France into the field. We have no desire to underrate the military power of Austria; but that she should in an offensive war, reprobated by the opinion of Europe, waged amidst a hostile population, in a narrow peninsula, bounded by seas under the command of her enemies, succeed in finally overcoming the combined forces of France and Italy, is manifestly beyond the range of probability.

If Italy cannot again become Austrian, she must henceforward of necessity be either Italian or French. This being the alternative, it is obviously in the highest degree the interest of Europe, especially of Germany, and most of all of Austria, that Italy should be Italian rather than French. And we think it evident that Italy never will, or possibly can, be in any sense independent of France, so long as Venetia and the Quadrilateral are in the hands of Austria.

France is now necessary to the new Italian kingdom for the purposes of defence. The hostility of Austria to the present order of things in Italy cannot be doubted; and, though she is unequal to a contest with France and Italy combined, her military resources infinitely surpass those of Italy alone. Holding the great fortresses of the Quadrilateral, Austria possesses, under the Villafranca arrangement, portions of territory on the west bank of the Mincio, and the south bank of the Po, which enable her to invade at pleasure the plains of Lombardy on the one side, and of the Duchies on the other. Her armies appear to be unaffected in number or resources by the financial distress of the Empire; and it is certain, from the character of the present Emperor of

Austria, that, so long as he retains his power, every other object will be sacrificed to the maintenance of undimin ished military strength.

We should be sorry to underrate the resistance which an Austrian invasion of Italy would meet with from Italian troops. No one can have watched attentively for the last twelve years the heroic career of the Sardinian army without feelings of earnest admiration and respect. Neither does there seem any reason to fear that the newer forces of the Italian kingdom will prove unworthy of their Sardinian comrades. The exploits of Garibaldi's volunteers in Lombardy in 1859, and in Sicily and Naples in 1860, are well known. We have read with pleasure that it was the newly-raised battalions of the Romagna and Tuscany who sustained the chief brunt of Lamoricière's attack at Castelfidardo, and carried by storm the outworks of Ancona. Even the Italian troops of the King of Naples fought gallantly at the Volturno, and are said to have kept the field till they had lost in killed and wounded a third of their number.

It may be concluded, then, that Italy possesses good materials for organizing a standing army proportionate to her population and resources. The forma tion of a great army, however, is necessarily the work of many years, as well as of an enormous expenditure. Not only must large bodies of men be raised, equipped, and paid, and tens of thousands of horses, fit for military purposes, be collected and trained, but immense arsenals must be formed, and supplied with all the costly matériel of modern warfare. The Emperor Nicholas is said to have been accumulating at Sebastopol, throughout his entire reign, that vast collection of guns, ammunition, and stores, which were expended in the short Crimean war. And, until the formation of an Italian army on a great scale is complete, King Victor Emmanuel and his successors will be unable to cope with the Austrian army in the field. At Solferino the Austrian Emperor is said to have had nearly 200,000 men under arms. The whole Sardinian army

present at that engagement formed only the left wing of the allied force under Napoleon III.; and, even for a single wing, the Sardinians were too few.

As long, then, as the vast standing army of Austria is entrenched in the heart of northern Italy, and as long as the military organization of Italy is on a scale totally unequal to that of Austria, so long must the new Italian kingdom rely for its protection on the arms of France. We believe this protection will probably be given; for the re-conquest of Italy by Austria must on many grounds be strongly distasteful to the French army and nation. But can any one believe that the French will give their aid for nothing? Is it even reasonable to expect from them such chivalrous generosity? Not even those persons (and they form a much more numerous class amongst reflecting men in Italy than they do in England) who think that the French Emperor is animated by a sincere sympathy with Italy, can hope

it. Even if it be true, as such persons believe, that the cession of Savoy and Nice was exacted by Napoleon III. only to reconcile the French nation to the sacrifices made by France in the late war, the state of opinion in France has certainly not become such that Napoleon III. could safely undertake another war, unless it were to be followed by other recompenses.

The prospect of a new war in Italy, and the terms on which France should take part in it, have been the subject of frequent discussion by the French press. Some idea of the character of these discussions may be formed from the following passages taken from an article on Italy, which appeared in a late number of the Revue Contemporaine, a journal ranking with our own Edinburghs and Quarterlies. We think these passages so instructive that we shall lay them before our readers, though the article from which they are taken has already been the subject of notice in some of the English papers. After stating that France could not again expend her gold and the blood of her soldiers on Italian soil for nothing, and that the Emperor

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The

would not impose on the army an unpopular war, the writer proceeds: 1— "The surest means of giving some popularity to such a war would be to "dazzle the eyes of France with the prospect of new glory, combined with an increase of territory; and this time "Genoa and the island of Sardinia must "be the stake to be played for. "island of Sardinia, added to that of "Corsica, gives us a land route towards "Algeria; Genoa perfects our possession "of a gulf, of which the half already be"longs to us; both bring us an increase "of maritime power which I should "consider indispensable in presence of a kingdom of Italy, which would not "have less than 750 leagues of coast."

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At a subsequent page the writer touches on another recompense to be obtained by France in the command of the maritime population of Italy :—

"France, possessing vast and well"filled arsenals, and accumulating the "matériel of a navy, of which the soul, "that is to say, the personnel, is want

66

ing, might, at any given moment, "borrow from Italy 50,000 sailors, em"bark them in succession upon her "fleet, and display everywhere, and

particularly in the Mediterranean, a "formidable and victorious flag. Eng"land, blockaded at Malta and Gibral"tar, would no longer be even mistress "of the ocean, for France could there "maintain forces superior to hers. "Thus it is that the Italian question "would recoil upon the nation which "has the most favoured its development "in these latter days."

A third extract we will give to show the writer's notion of an independent Italy:

"I may add that the possession of that "city (Genoa) would be the instrument necessary to our influence in the "Peninsula, and the only efficacious

means of preventing the maritime forces, which we should have contri"buted to form, from one day abjuring our alliance for the purpose of forming

1 Translated from the "Revue Contemporaine," 15 Octobre, 1860, p. 363, et seq.