"Spain is not a country to travel in, and there is no nation which is more unfairly estimated by foreigners who pay it only a flying visit. We have no opportunity of appreciating the Spaniards' good points, nor do we become at all aware of their latent fund of humor, their good-heartedness, and their true _bonhomie_. We jostle with them in crowds, we rub roughly against them in travelling, our patience is sorely tried, and we are apt, as Miss Eyre did, to denounce them as worse than 'barbarians. But we should bear in mind that Spaniards differ from other nations conspicuously in this--that they become sooner '_crystallized_;' and crystals, we all no well, are never seen to advantage when in contact with foreign bodies. In short Spaniards are not as other men; and Spain is a dear delightful land of contraries, where nothing ever happens as you expect it, and where 'coming objects _never_ cast their shadow before!'" -------- ORIGINAL. ANNIVERSARY. The brooding July noon, the still, deep heats Upon the full-leaved woods and flowering maize, The first wheat harvest, and the torrid blaze Which on the sweating reapers fiercely beats And drives each songster to its own retreats,-- Much less the stately lily of the field, Gorgeous in scarlet, whose large anthers yield The honey-bee meet prison for its sweets, A flame amid the meadow-land's rich green-- With the revolving year is never seen But o'er the sunny landscape creeps a shade Of solemn recollection. Lilies! lean Your brilliant coronals where once was laid A boy's brow grand in death, and "Rest in peace" be said. ------ {129} From The Month. ST. CATHARINE AT FLORENCE.