little or nothing in the poetry of the latter to justify the comparison. It is true that there is much to admire in Petrarch, but there is also much that is prurient, insipid, and disgusting. We weary of his love speeches to Laura. They are too monotonous. They lack strength, variety, depth, and originality. The incident he relates of seeing a young peasant girl, on a summer day, washing in a running stream a veil of the same texture as one worn by Laura, and of his trembling before her as if in the presence of Laura herself, may be very sentimental and romantic, but we hardly think it worthy of being enshrined in verse, and least of all such verse as Petrarch was capable of writing.

DANTE's love speeches, on the contrary, are never occasioned by such ludicrous incidents. He seems to have a soul above the aggrandisement of insignificant things. His poetry is ever marked by a uniform excellence. He is at all times terribly in earnest. It is almost impossible to think of him without regretting that the age in which he lived was incapable of appreciating his rare and wondrous gifts. It seems that fortune frowned upon him from his birth. When only nine years of age he met Beatrice Portinari, to whose love and beauty he attributed the inspiration of his genius. She died in early youth, but not until she became the wife of another. It is said that she did not wholly turn a deaf ear to his vows of affection, but maintained for him the loftiest ideas of Platonic love. His disconsolate grief on being unable to secure her for his bride, won for him the affections of the beautiful Gemma Dei Donati, a descendant of a long line of powerful and warlike nobles. His marriage with her was anything else but a happy one. In the revolution of Ghian Della, he was arrayed in the ranks of the citizens against the nobility. He was elected one of the Priors of Florence, but when

the opposite party came into power he was condemned to pay a fine for an alleged malversation in office. He was sentenced to be burned alive if taken within the boundaries of the Republic. Thus cruelly banished from Florence, forsaken by his friends and relatives, he became a homeless wanderer on the face of the earth. He stopped awhile in Sienna and in Bologna, and with the Ghibelline chieftian, Fazuola, on the mountains near Ubini. It is said that he wandered to France and England, and was seen in Paris and at Oxford. Wherever he went, trouble, and pain, and sorrow marked his footsteps. He has himself said:

"Through almost all parts where the Italian is spoken, a wanderer and well-nigh a beggar, I have gone, showing against my will the wound of fortune. Truly I have been a vessel without sail or rudder, driven to divers ports, estuaries and shores by that hot blast, the breath of poverty, and I have shown myself to the eyes of many who, perhaps, through some fame of me had imagined me in quite another guise, in whose view not only my person was debased, but every work of mine done or yet to do became valueless."

In the midst of his sufferings an effort was made to procure his return to Florence. Alas! that genius should so often draw upon itself the bitterest persecution. It is not the gift of the crowd. It is an original and a creative being, ever diffusing its light upon the world, yet asking none from it. It is often idolised, crowned and sceptred, clothed in purple and decked with glittering jewels, but oftener trampled under foot, and pierced by the shafts of envy and jealousy, which, like the fabled arrows of Acestes, take fire as they fly.

The conditions on which DANTE was allowed to return to Florence were conceived in a spirit of the bitterest malig

nity. We can form some idea of the loftiness of his pride from a letter on this subject addressed to a relative: —

"I will return," said he, "with hasty steps, if you or any other can open to me a way that shall not derogate from the fame and honor of DANTE; but if by no other way Florence can be entered, then Florence I shall never see. What shall I not everywhere enjoy the light of the sun and the stars, and may I not seek and contemplate in every corner of the earth, under the canopy of heaven, consoling and delightful truth, without first rendering myself inglorious, nay, infamous, to the people and Republic of Florence? Bread, I hope, will not fail me."

him at Ravenna, where he Florence made two formal.

A monument was erected to passed the last days of his life. demands for his remains, but the city that had given him a home in his distress could not, in justice to itself, grant the request.

In person, DANTE was above the medium height. His complexion was of a dark olive. His eyes were dark and piercing, and of a singular brilliancy of expression. His countenance was resolute and determined, and ever displayed a shade of melancholy. His disposition was naturally mild and gentle, but became harsh and irascible through intense mental suffering.

By the common consent of mankind, his "Divina Commedia" ranks with the "Iliad" and "Odyssey." His Beatrice, as portrayed with her flowing hair and starry eyes, and cheeks whose roseate hue shames the glory of the morn, whose breath is the perfume of the opening rose, whose snowy bosom swells with love's own sighs, is indeed no mortal, but an angel of light, throned among the supremely blest. He was the first poet of his country who gave elegance of style and diction to his native tongue. He has been often called the father of Italian literature. The statesmen and

scholars of his time thought it an evidence of vulgarity to speak or write in any other language than the Latin; but DANTE found in the speech of the illiterate peasantry the sweetest tones of music.

"Di Monarchia" and the "Convito" are, perhaps, his most popular prose works.

Mr. Norton has recently translated the "Vita Nuovo.' His version of "Il Dolarosa" is greatly admired.

Shelley's translation of the ode entitled “A Wish," which we give below, is unequaled for the exquisite flow of its numbers:

Guido, I would that Lappo, thou and I,

Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend

A magic ship, whose charmed sails should fly

With the winds at will, where'er our thoughts might wend,

So that no change or any evil chance

Should mar our joyous voyage, but it might be

That even satiety should still enhance

Between our hearts their strict community;
And that the bounteous wizard then would place
Vanna and Bice and my gentle love,

Companions of our wanderings, and would grace
With passionate tales, wherever we might rove,
Our time, and each were as content and free
As I believe that thou and I should be."

THE GYPSIES.

THE Gypsies are wholly ignorant of their origin, and have kept but an imperfect record of their migrations; but it is evident that they are a distinct race of people. Like the Jews, they have no country of their own, and are scattered over all parts of the globe. Time has made little or no change in their peculiarities. They have the same language, personal appearance, habits, and customs, that they had centuries ago. The name of Gypsies (meaning Egyptians) is doubtless an incorrect one. At least we know of nothing to justify them in the assumption of the title. In Italy they are called "Zingari," in Germany "Zigeuner," in Spain "Gitanos," in Turkey "Tchengenler," in Persia "Sisech Hindu," in Sweden "Tartars," and in France "Bohemiens."

Borrow expresses the opinion that the name of Gypsies originated among the priests and learned men of Europe, who expected to find in Scripture some account of their origin and some clew to their skill in the occult sciences.

Simson, the author of a recent work entitled the "History of the Gypsies," believes that they are a mixture of the shepherd-kings and the native Egpytians, who formed part of the "mixed multitude" mentioned in the Biblical account of the expulsion of the Jews from Egypt. Grellman, however, traces their origin to India. He says that they belong to the Soodra caste. Vulcanius describes