Whilst these things were happening, a Prince was pursuing in the north of our peninsula a similar course, accompanied by the same hopes, by the same illusions and delusions of the people. He was saluted by the title of the _Sword of Italy_. The choicest spirits from all parts pointed out to him Austria and the Alps, and suspended, in order to make the last trial of monarchy, the propagandism of their most cherished ideas. He was preceded by the encouragement of all Europe, and followed by a numerous and valiant army. Where died Charles Albert? Thus has Providence shown to our people, desirous of the right, but lukewarm in faith and too credulous in the illusions of the old world, the powerlessness of monarchy to insure the safety of Italy, and the irreconcilability of papacy with the free progress of humanity. The dualism of the middle ages is henceforward a mere form without life or soul; the Guelph and Ghibelline insignia are now those of the tomb. Neither Pope, nor King! God and the people only shall henceforth disclose to us the regions of the future. * * * * * Future times--nay the present will do ample justice to Mazzini, as well as to Pio Nono. In the first will be frankly recognized one of those iron men who are able to beard tyranny and profligacy even while they stand alone, the apostles of reformation, the originators and heralds of after change. In the other--but the words just quoted anticipate as it seems to us, and in no ungenerous spirit, the verdict and language of history. FOOTNOTES: [27] Royalty and Republicanism in Italy; or Notes and Documents relating to the Lombard Insurrection, and to the Royal War of 1848. By Joseph Mazzini. Charles Gilpin. [From the Keepsake for 1851.] THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. BY BARRY CORNWALL. Sleep!--the ghostly winds are blowing; No moon's abroad; no star is glowing; The river is deep, and the tide is flowing To the land where you and I are going! We are going afar, Beyond moon or star, To the land where the sinless angels are! I lost my heart to your heartless sire; ('Twas melted away by his looks of fire;) Forgot my God, and my father's ire, All for the sake of a man's desire:-- But now we'll go Where the waters flow, And make us a bed where none shall know. The world is cruel; the world's untrue; Our foes are many; our friends are few; No work, no bread, however we sue! What is there left for us to do-- But fly--fly, From the cruel sky, And hide in the deepest deeps--and die! [From the Ladies' Companion.] A DRIVE ABOUT MY NEIGHBORHOOD IN 1850. BY MARY RUSSEL MITFORD.