"Welcome, my daughter, again," said her double, the blessed Madonna; "Now I restore you your keys, your robe, and your other belongings, Adding the excellent name and promotion I've won in your likeness; Be you a nun as before, but more pious; farewell, take my blessing." Speaking, she melted away in the holy pre-Raphaelite picture. Again was Beatrice "herself," like Richard the third, _à la_ Shakespeare, Growing in grace from that day, and winning the glory of Saintship; While each of the pupils she taught, went to heaven as surely as _she_ did. * * * * * Such is the metre Columbian, but where is the bard who devised it? Tenderest he of the poets who wrote in the tongue of (New) England, Where the minstrel who sang of "Evangeline," also "Miles Standish?" Alas! he will never again pour forth his effusions pathetic, But his name and his fame endure, and this characteristic measure In honour of him I adopt, without any thought of burlesquing. Thus on the ear its cadence, like sounds from the labouring ocean, Breaks, and in accents mellifluous follows the thoughts of the author. _Lays of the Saintly_, by Walter Parke (Vizetelly & Co.), London, 1882. Charles Wolfe. The Reverend Charles Wolfe, who was born in Dublin in 1791, has earned literary immortality by one short poem, and that copied with considerable closeness from a prose account of the incident to which it refers. Reading in the _Edinburgh Annual Register_ a description of the death and burial of Sir John Moore, the young poet turned it into verse with such sublime pathos, such taste and skill, that his poem has obtained imperishable fame in our literature. Mr. Wolfe also produced a few other poems of unquestionable grace and pathos, but nothing approaching the beauty of his immortal ode. He was, for a time, curate of Ballyclog, in Tyrone, and afterwards of Donoughmore. His arduous duties in a large, wild, and very scattered parish left him little leisure to cultivate the muses, and soon told on his delicate constitution. He died of consumption on 21st February, 1823, at the early age of 32, and thus the assertion of his detractors that he produced nothing else of sufficient merit to show that he could have written the ode in question, may be easily met by the two pleas--firstly, that he had other duties to perform; and, secondly, that his career was too brief to admit of many, or great, performances. The battle of Corunna was fought on January 16, 1809, by the British army, about 15,000 strong, under Sir John Moore, against a force of about 20,000 Frenchmen.