ITALIAN papers inform us, that the long-talked-of withdrawal of French troops from Rome has lately commenced. Three thousand French soldiers have left that city, thirteen thousand still remaining to defend it. Through the growing accord between the Pope and Victor Emanuel, it is hoped that these will not long be wanted.

SOME of the many travellers who have sojourned in Florence may like to hear about the Dante festivities lately celebrated with so much splendor in that city. A file of Florentine papers, lately received, have much to say on this subject. The quaint and dear old city, always so busy and lively, was never more excited. For weeks prior to May 14, the note of preparation had been sounding; and innumerable festoons, arches, inscriptions, statues, attested the universal interest. The railways brought daily four or five thousand visitors, delegations of distinguished men having been sent from all the leading cities of Italy. In many cases they brought with them banners and homage gifts, which have been carefully treasured up as a memorial in the Palace of the Podesta. The chief interest on the first day's celebration centred in the piazza Santa Croce, which was entirely covered with a green cloth, in the centre of which was erected a throne for the king and court, whose presence gave great eclat to the occasion. When the curtain was dropped before the statue of the great poet, the enthusiasm was so intense that many were affected to tears. There were tableaux vivants representing scenes in the "Divina Commedia ;" and the first artists of Italy, Ristori, Salvini, Rozzi, and others, recited choice extracts from the poem in illustration of the tableaux. An exposition of mediæval objects, such as manuscripts, wills, parchments, rare editions, objects of curious art and antiquity, collected from every part of Italy, drew thousands of visitors. The gonfaloniere, or mayor of the city, had sent a letter of special invitation to Victor Hugo, who, not being able to be present, had returned a somewhat long but eloquent reply, which was publicly read, in which he calls their celebration a magnificent symptom of the age, in honor of one who, in the thirteenth century, brooded over ideas which had been realized in the nineteenth, while he rejoiced that Italy had come out from the seven circles, and that slavery was at that moment dying in America. A banquet was given, attended by eminent generals, statesmen, poets, and scholars of all Italy, and about thirty

distinguished Frenchmen, Englishmen, Russians, and Germans. The king decreed, that Conte Pietro Alighieri, the sole descendant of the great poet, should be inscribed in the golden book as a Florentine patrician, himself and his descendants for ever. Add to all, a few days after the celebration the Florentines learned a fact which raised their enthusiasm to a still higher pitch. Many fruitless attempts had long been made to find the body of Dante, at Ravenna, where it had been buried. On the 28th of May, word came, that, by the demolition of an ancient chapel near the poet's burial-place, the veritable "Ossa Dantis" were discovered; and the municipal committee sent back a congratulatory reply. We have given a hint of only a small number of the exhibitions of popular feeling. The inevitable horse-racings for which the Florentines have such a passion were not of course forgotten. The illuminations of the Pitti, Uffizii, and other grand old palaces, closed the public rejoicings.

HABIT IN WELL-DOING.

It is a vital condition of success in the Christian life, that we should begin with making its duties not merely a series of separate actions, but a constant habit. Most people, when a religious service is set before them, would like to comprise it in a single job, as they do other kinds of business, and finish it all up at once. They are discouraged with the idea of doing the same thing over and over again. The calls of charity are answered cheerfully enough the first two or three times, but are wearisome when it is found they are to be presented month after month. The Sunday school, on which the young teacher entered with such enthusiasm, is apt to be a bore at the end of half a dozen Sundays. The hardest trial of the drunkard, in breaking off from his bondage, is after the impulse of his first conversion has died away, and while he is yet obliged with each new temptation to make a separate effort of resistance. Many a young Christian has found himself wishing, that, in some fervent moment, he could lay up a stock of prayers on his closet-shelf that would last him a whole year. Indeed, the popular idea of salvation is that which would have it closed up with one revival, on one day, in one place; and not dragging

along through a person's whole life, and mixed up with all days, and all kinds of business. We are like a little girl I know of, who, when reproved for some naughty thing she was doing, exclaimed, "Well, mother, I had almost rather go to the wicked place, than keep trying so hard all the time not to go!"

The difficulty in these, and all such cases, is, that we have not . done the things required of us often enough to make them a habit. Every thing is a labor just in proportion as we have to do it by a separate effort. If a person were obliged to do up all his breathing once a week, to eat his food only at rare intervals, or to put on his clothing simply for a few days in the year, he would find them a very wearisome task. It is only the frequency of these acts, only breathing every moment, eating every day, and wearing our clothes literally as a habit, that keeps them from being irksome. Drive your wagon over a road where the planks are five feet apart, and the motion is excruciating; let the planks be shoved up close together, and it is one delicious roll. So in the Christian life. We must make our duties come so near to each other that they will touch, if we would have them a pleasure. It is easier to give fifty times a year than it is ten; easier to go to church every Sunday than every month; easier to pray each night and morning than only now and then; easier to be a Christian on every day, and in every place, than only in the meeting-house, and once a week. Habit is the great helper that takes away the burden from all labor, and makes even the roughest places smooth. And, in our well-doing, the best way never to be weary is never to stop and rest.

K.

TALFOURD, the poet, lost a child, aged six years, named after Charles Lamb. The following is extracted from the "Memorial Verses," written by the bereaved father. We hardly know which touch the heart more deeply, the allusions to the lost boy, or to the gentle poet whose name he bore.

The LAMB, with whose endearing name

Our boy we proudly graced,

Shrunk from the warmth of sweeter fame
Than ever bard embraced.

Still, 'twas a mournful joy to think
Our darling might supply,
For years on earth, a living link
To name that cannot die.

And, though such fancy gleam no more
On earthly sorrow's night,

Truth's noble torch unveils the shore
That gives to both its light.

The nursling there that hand may take,
None ever grasped in vain;

And smiles of well-known sweetness wake,
Without their tinge of pain.

Though 'twixt the child and childlike bard
Late seemed distinction wide,

They now may trace, in heaven's regard,
How near they are allied.

Within the infant's ample brow,
Blithe fancies lay unfurled,

Which, all uncrushed, may open now,
To charm a sinless world.

Though the soft spirit of those eyes
Might ne'er with LAMB'S compete,
Ne'er sparkle with a wit as wise,

Or melt with tears as sweet,

That calm and unforgotten look
A kindred love reveals,

With his who never friend forsook,
Or hurt a thing that feels.

In thought profound, in wildest glee,
In sorrow's lengthening range,
His guileless soul of infancy

Endured no spot or change.

From traits of each, our love receives
For comfort nobler scope;

While light which childlike genius leaves

Confirms the infant's hope:

And in that hope, with sweetness fraught,

Be aching hearts beguiled,

To blend, in one delightful thought,

The poet and the child.

LITERARY NOTICES.

History of England; from the Fall of Wolsey to the Death of Elizabeth. By JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE, M.A., late Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford. New York: Charles Scribner & Co., 124, Grand Street. 1865.

Two volumes have thus far been issued of this luxurious reprint. We need not say, that, if history is one of the most interesting and valuable works of modern English literature, there can be no doubt that the publishers will be abundantly encouraged to finish what has been commenced with such admirable enterprise. The only way by which we can even approximate the truth of history is to put ourselves with open minds under various guides, and be content, if need be, to hear our most cherished historical conclusions vehemently spoken against. Mr. Froude can help us greatly in this way; for he does not rest, without inquiry or protest, in any stereotyped foregone conclusions, and is quite free to set himself against the unfavorable verdict which people and scholars alike had pronounced upon Henry the Eighth of England. Let him be heard in his pleadings, even though the exculpation of king be the condemnation of queen; and, whatever we may think of the justice of his conclusions, we shall be sure to follow his narrative and his arguments with very deep and enduring interest. The two volumes which have been given to readers on this side of the water bring the story to the execution of Anne Boleyn in 1536. They are full of the most valuable and entertaining matter, and are especially rich in descriptions of the every-day life of the English people in the sixteenth century. The mechanical execution of the books leaves nothing to be desired; and there cannot be the slightest shadow of an excuse for importing copies from abroad, now that this exquisite library edition is to be put within our reach.

E.

Thoughts on Personal Religion. By EDWARD MYRICK GOULDBURN, Chaplain to the Bishop of Oxford. Appleton & Co., 443, 445, Broadway, New York.