this warlike people, that they broke over the barriers of the Roman constitution to make him a senator, before he was by law old enough to hold any office; to award him a triumph while he was but a simple knight; and to appoint him commander-in-chief of the forces of the empire, when that office legally devolved upon the consuls. I said that a candidate for senator must serve in a victorious army. The defeat of Marius spoiled the bright prospects of many who were on the eve of claiming in civil rank the reward of their services in the field. Many, who were almost senators, were afterwards simple cottagers and tenders of sheep.

I see your eye is fixed upon Augustus. Pardon me, but I can stay no longer, as other duties call me hence. We will visit the Senate House again, and take note of its proceedings: we will also talk of Augustus. As we are wending our way homeward, I will reply to your last question.

There are parties in the Roman senate. They represent, too, the same respective elemental principles of politics which divide statesmen in all countries: the progressive and the conservative. In some countries, the conservative party supports the throne; in others, the aristocracy; in others, the constitution. The progressive takes ground exactly opposite. Both are valuable; both are necessary. Philosophy might teach, that one would be better in a monarchical or aristocratic government, the other better in a popular government.

The parties of the Roman senate are called the People's Party and the Nobility Party. Augustus vacillated from one to the other, while he was creeping into power. At one time he was a candidate for tribune of the people; at another, a violent partisan in favor of the nobles. Cicero speaks of "our party." He belonged to the conservative or aristocratic party. The Claudii have all been conservatives, except the knave, Publius Clodius.

There is one feature, especially distinguishable here, which is common to conservative parties in all ages and countries. They all are, have been, and will be, fastidious. They will unite firmly for their best principles and their best men, but doubtful compromises and inferior men they will not support compactly. Here in Rome, they have always been inefficient and vacillating. There have always been many men of many minds among them. The progressive party, on the other hand, move by a common impulse. Not knowing exactly whither they are going, they have little to dispute about. Success is the paramount object, because they can see no other clearly. They can carry much that is oppressive and annoying on their shoulders, and yet not stagger under the load. They can even triumph, and know no good reason why they have done so. It has always been so in Rome.

APRIL'S PLEA.

BY L. F. ROBINSON.

Nay! blame not TIME!

He worketh bravely; rending now

The crystal crown from Winter's brow,
And shedding on this dreary scene

Some drops of song, some spots of green.
With sunbeam lance and zephyr wand,

He shivers icy mail and bond,

And sets the singing streamlet free

To riot through the grassy lea.

He hastens to the waiting Spring

Her wreath of buds and leaves to bring.
He'll press the snow-drop to her breast

And hang the crocus in her vest;
The pallid primrose here will set;

And there, the blue eyed violet.

The hyacinth of varied hue

Shall fill its perfumed cup with dew,

While "fairies'-fire," though nursed by snows,

Around its martyr-stamens glows.

Aye! even now, in sunnier zones,

Glad Nature Spring's dominion owns.

The jessamine, on pendant vines,
Round trellised porches gayly shines,
And from its yellow censers there
Pours soft aroma on the air.
The bright azalea in the wood
Adorns the voiceless solitude;
Suspended from gigantic trees
And trembling in the fragrant breeze;
While trilling birds make melody
More charming than all harmony.

Nay! blame not TIME!

At morn-he'll lift from mountain-side
The mist's blue curtain, waving wide;
And fields, where grass and flowers are new,
Will sow with burning gems of dew:

At even-tide-the amber sky

Will streak with colors warm and high;
Call fire-flies forth to dance by night,
With countless torches, veiled and bright;
While every glow-worm lifts his lamp,
A watch-fire in the fairy camp.

He'll bid the bird of ruddy breast
Sing ere he builds his grass-lined nest.
The lisping cedar-birds shall chase
The gold-winged flies in listless race,
While butterflies in sunshine bask

And bees hie humming to their task.
The wood-thrush, from his shadowy screen,—
Most happy when he sings unseen,—

Shall fill with song some lonely nook,

Where bush and vine embower the brook.

The lark shall in the meadow hide;

The cat-bird through the hedges glide:

The chaffinch broken music talk,

While swinging on the thistle's stalk:
The gold-wing reveillé shall beat,
And crickets chirp a shrill retreat
The trout shall leap in stony brooks,
Where, hidden by the bank, he looks
For giddy flies which o'er them skim,
Or on their flashing bosom swim.

Hear'st thou the music of the trees,
Swept by the fingers of the breeze?
Hear'st thou the drum of yon cascade
And timbrels, by the fountains played,

With silver chime?

Then blame not TIME!

FLORENCE-THE APPENINES-BOLOGNA.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS IN ROME."

The sun was fast setting, and its beams streaming on the tops of the distant mountains bathed them in a rich purple and gold, as we left Florence. It was hard to tear ourselves away from the fair city where we had passed so many weeks, each day invested with a romantic interest, and we often looked back to take a last lingering look of its lovely scenery. There was the yellow Arno, winding on its way through the city and stretching along like a golden thread through the valley, as it goes to wash the foundations of the palaces of Pisa, and unite its waters with the Mediterranean. There was ancient Fiesolé, in whose convent Milton long resided, and the view from which furnished him with so beautiful an illustration, when describing the shield of Satan.

On those hills on the opposite side of the valley, the parting sunbeams played about the white walls of the convent of San Minuato, and the lofty tower from which Galileo made his observations. Near it was his residence, where he spent his days of banishment and where Milton visited him. What a meeting was that, and how invaluable to us would be the record of some evening which they passed together-the one looking out from his lonely tower on the bright stars which gleamed in an Italian sky, with as deep a reverence as any Chaldean of old, and the other gazing on the varied landscape below with a mind so full of all that was rich and profound in classical literature! How must these glorious scenes have inspired him who came, (as he himself says in his Latin epistle to his friend Manso at Naples), "chilled by rude blasts that freeze his northern home!" But nothing is left us of Milton's stay at Florence, except now and then an allusion which sparkles in his lines, showing how in his after years of blindness the remembrance of Italian scenes rose to his mind. There too on that same range of hills, we saw the old villa in which Boccacio wrote many of his "Hundred Tales," and not far off the ground on which Catiline and his conspirators encamped. Every spot was legendary, and never had it seemed so lovely as when we were leaving it perhaps forever. But the crimson and gold on the hills faded away, and as one by one the stars began to blaze out in the

deep blue sky, we commenced our ascent of the Appenines. I fell asleep as the carriage slowly toiled up the mountain, and the postillion urged on the eight horses before us, with those strange shouts and screams to be heard no where but in Italy.

us.

The road was dreary enough, without a single house, and our friends in Florence had assured us that we should certainly be robbed. Several cases of the kind had recently occurred, and the passage of the mountains was considered dangerous. I slept on, however, without any such visions mingling with my dreams, until a louder yell than usual from the postillions suddenly startled me into consciousness, with the idea that the banditti were upon The prospect however to which I awoke would have delighted Salvator Rosa. It was the grey dawn, and we were on the highest point of the wild Appenines, without a habitation in sight. Around us were hills piled one on the other, entirely bare, or covered with a stunted growth of trees, while deep glens and valleys formed the divisions between them. Clouds wreathed their tops or hung about their sides far below us. The rocks rose white and blanched, and here and there a drift of snow which the spring was not far enough advanced to melt. It was as wild and savage a scene as we could have found among the mountains in our own land.

We soon commenced our descent, and about eight stopped at a solitary inn for breakfast. It was a massive stone building, which had probably stood since the middle ages, and not many years before had been the scene of a fearful tragedy, a traveller having been murdered by those who were then the occupants of the house. The principal apartment, and in which we breakfasted was a large hall, flagged with stone, where we gathered around the fire, or rather inside the huge fireplace, shivering at the contrast to the sunny plains of Tuscany which we had just left. A German gentleman tendered some civilities with a politeness which led to conversation, and afterwards staying at the same hotel at Bologna ripened our casual meeting into an acquaintance. When we knew each other better, he was once discussing the noli-me-tangere character of the English, and remarked, "In travelling, I never speak to an Englishman first;" and then added, laughing, "I first took you for English, and put myself on my dignity, without any intention of speaking to you. I happened, however, to see New York' on your trunks, or I should probably never had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

As we descended the mountain, we left the clouds behind us, and the cheerful sunbeams once more broke out. A few miles farther and we reached the frontier of Tuscany, and entered the Papal territory. A custom house was of course to be passed, but a few pauls judiciously dropped into the hands of the proper officer satisfied him that our baggage contained nothing heretical and saved us the trouble of a search. Then came an annoyance not so easily disposed of. A swarm of beggars gathered at once