To her who in triumph, the beautiful queen, Descends from the airs of the region serene; To her who illumines its vaguest confine With auroras of gold, and of pearl and carmine; To her whom a myriad of voices confessed The lady of angels, the queen of the blest: Whose tresses celestial are lightly outborne And goldenly float in the glory of morn, And waving and rising would seek to o'erwhelm Like the gulfs of the Tibar an ivory realm: From whose graces the sunlight may learn how to shine, And the stars of the night take a brilliance divine, We sing thee rejoicing while praises ascend, O sinless, O stainless! live, live without end. The scarcity of the poems of Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, even in her native land, is cause for wonder, but not if we first remark that still greater marvel--the long-continued discomposure of Mexican society. It is one hundred and seventy years since the parchment-bound book, from which we have drawn a number of facts in the life of the _Poetisa_, was published. Our impression of the rarity and age of her printed works, as derived from acquaintance with educated Mexicans in their own country, tempts us to doubt whether they have been issued in any complete shape during the present century. For a good portion of the extracts we have presented we are indebted to an intelligent and scholarly review prepared in Mexico, two years ago, by Don Francisco Prinentel, the author of a number of books on the races and languages of Mexico. Outside of the monastic or rich private libraries of that country, it is doubtless a task of much difficulty to find the poems of Sor Juana. For this reason we are disposed to excuse the able American historian of Spanish literature for omitting everything in relation to her except the mere mention of her name as a lyrical writer. It is hoped, however, that this notice of her life and works, probably the first which has appeared in the United States, will supply the omission of what should be a chief fact in any American notice of Spanish literature. The claim which we make for Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, as regards the literature of the New World, is not short of the very highest. DION AND THE SIBYLS. A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL. BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF "HARDING THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC. CHAPTER XXIV. At the golden gate of the Temple courtyard, a Roman legionary soldier (detailed as body-servant to the General Paulus) met him. The soldier was leading a small, wiry Tauric (or really Tartar) horse. Paulus, twisting a lock of the animal's mane in his left hand, and taking up with the little finger thereof the loop of the bridle, sprang into the ephippia. The soldier smiled, as the still handsome and youthful-looking legatus settled himself on the back of his steed. "Why are you smiling, my man?" quoth Paulus good-humoredly.