of Villafranca, Garibaldi marched into Central Italy as second in command, but was forbidden to advance on Rome.

Without permission of anybody, he gathered a thousand men for an expedition to Sicily in May, 1860, landed at Marsala and took Palermo. At the end of August he crossed to the mainland, and the struggle was carried from Reggio northward, with faint-hearted opposition, to Naples, which the Bourbon king, Francis II., known as "Bomba," abandoned. Garibaldi pushed on to Gaeta, where the Bourbons had sought refuge. Returning to Naples, he met Victor Emmanuel and saluted him "King of Italy." Capua and Gaeta afterwards capitulated.

Garibaldi did not get on well with the Sardinian lieutenants, who refused to admit his volunteers to enrolment in the regular army. The republicans were offended at his submission to the king. Therefore, as poor in purse as when he set out, without any honors or titles, the simple-minded general went on board a vessel and returned to his home in Caprera. The cession of his native city (Nice) to France had filled him with sorrow. In 1862 Garibaldi led a new expedition from southern Italy, to make an attack on Rome. They were followed by a strong body of the royal troops, and were attacked on the mountain plateau of Aspromonte, when they surrendered, Garibaldi himself being severely wounded in the ankle. He was conveyed to Spezzia, where the bullet was extracted. On account of his services in the cause of Italian independence in 1860, he was pardoned, and he returned to Caprera.

During the war of 1866 Garibaldi again took the field against Austria, and was engaged in operations in the Tyrol. He sustained a severe repulse from the Austrians on July 22d, and was compelled to retreat. This reverse he retrieved before the Seven Weeks' War was brought to a close.

In 1867 Garibaldi organized an invasion of the States of the Church, and in October set out to join the insurgent bands on the Roman frontier. At the head of four companies of volunteers he defeated the Pontifical troops at Monto Rotondo, October 26th; but on the 4th of November, at Mentana, he suffered a speedy and crushing defeat. Garibaldi was arrested at Figline, on his journey to Caprera,

and carried to the fortress of Varignano, near Spezzia. The general protested against this act, and claimed the protection due to an American citizen and an Italian deputy. Being soon set at liberty, he retired to his island home and spent his time in writing two novels, The Volunteer Soldier, and Clelia, which had no particular merit.

On the downfall of the French Empire, Garibaldi hastened to France to place his sword at the disposal of the government of the National Defence. He landed at Marseilles October 7, 1870, arrived at Tours two days later, and on the 16th was given the command of the irregular forces in the Vosges. Great expectations were formed in some quarters of these troops; but they rendered little service in the field, whilst their conduct towards the clergy and the inmates of conventual establishments excited a general feeling of disgust. In February, 1871, Garibaldi was returned a deputy for the National Assembly for Paris, and several of the departments; but at the preliminary sitting of that body at Bordeaux on the 12th, the general, "loving the Republic, but hating the priesthood," ungraciously gave in his resignation. He also resigned the command of the Army of the Vosges, and, returning to Caprera, soon published his third romance, called "The Thousand," and based on the events of his Sicilian expedition. The remainder of his life was passed in terrible rheumatic suffering. His friends and admirers in England purchased and presented to him the whole island of Caprera. He had been married to an adventuress in 1859, but was legally separated from her in 1880, and then united to Francesca, a peasant girl, who had been the nurse of one of his daughters. His troubled life ended on the 2d of June, 1882.

Giuseppe Garibaldi saw the practical fulfillment of his dream of the unification of Italy. But his utopian ideas of a Republic, coupled with his undiscriminating hatred of the Church, led him into schemes which were really ruinous to the cause which he desired to champion. His life was a continual struggle to enforce his ideas on those whose government he believed to be detrimental to the welfare of his native land. The Italian government availed itself of his labors and successes, but could not commit itself to his rash guidance. His

simplicity was easily imposed upon by those who advocated unrestricted liberty. During the latter part of his life he felt himself called upon to act as the successor of Mazzini as prophet of liberal government in Europe.

ΜΕΝΤΑΝΑ.

(November 3, 1867.)

Young soldiers of the noble Latin blood,

How many are ye-Boys? Four thousand odd.

How many are there dead? Six hundred; count!

Their limbs lie strewn about the fatal mount,

Blackened and torn, eyes gummed with blood, hearts rolled

Out from their ribs, to give the wolves of the wold

A red feast; nothing of them left but these

Pierced relics, underneath the olive trees,
Show where the gin was sprung-the scoundrel-trap
Which brought those hero-lads their foul mishap.
See how they fell in swathes-like barley-ears!
Their crime? to claim Rome and her glories theirs;
To fight for Right and Honor;-foolish names!
Come Mothers of the soil! Italian dames!
Turn the dead over !—try your battle luck!
(Bearded or smooth, to her that gave him suck
The man is always child)-Stay, here's a brow
Split by the Zouaves' bullets! This one, now,
With the bright curly hair soaked so in blood,
Was yours, ma donna !-sweet and fair and good.
The spirit sat upon his fearless face

Before they murdered it, in all the grace

Of manhood's dawn. Sisters, here's yours! his lips,
Over whose bloom the bloody death-foam slips,
Lisped house-songs after you, and said your name
In loving prattle once. That hand, the same
Which lies so cold over the eyelids shut,

Was once a small pink baby-fist, and wet
With milk beads from thy yearning breasts.

Take thou

Thine eldest, thou, thy youngest born. Oh, flow
Of tears never to cease! Oh, Hope quite gone,
Dead like the dead!-Yet could they live alone-
Without their Tiber and their Rome? and be

Young and Italian-and not also free?

They longed to see the ancient eagle try
His lordly pinions in a modern sky.
They bore each on himself-the insults laid
On the dear foster-land: of naught afraid,
Save of not finding foes enough to dare.
For Italy. Ah, gallant, free, and rare
Young martyrs of a sacred cause,—Adieu!
No more of life—no more of love-for you!
No sweet long-straying in the star-lit glades
At Ave-Mary, with the Italian maids;
No welcome home!

This Garibaldi now, the Italian boys
Go mad to hear him-take to dying-take

To passion for "the pure and high;"-God's sake!
It's monstrous, horrible! One sees quite clear
Society-our charge-must shake with fear,
And shriek for help, and call on us to act,

When there's a hero, taken in the fact.

If Light shines in the dark, there's guilt in that!
What's viler than a lantern to a bat?

But thou, our Hero, baffled, foiled,

The Glorious Chief who vainly bled and toiled.
The trust of all the Peoples-Freedom's Knight!
The Paladin unstained-the Sword of Right!
What wilt thou do, whose land finds thee but gaols!
The banished claim the banished! deign to cheer.

The refuge of the homeless-enter here,
And light upon our households dark will fall
Even as thou enterest. Oh, Brother, all,

Each one of us-hurt with thy sorrows' proof,

Will make a country for thee of his roof.

Come, sit with those who live as exiles learn:

Come! Thou whom kings could conquer, but not turn.

We'll talk of "Palermo "-"the Thousand" true,

Will tell the tears of blood of France to you ;

Then by his own great Sea we'll read, together,
Old Homer in the quiet summer weather,

And after, thou shalt go to thy desire

While that faint star of Justice grows to fire.

Oh, Italy! hail your Deliverer,

Oh, Nations! almost he gave Rome to her!
Strong-arm and prophet-heart had all but come
To win the city, and to make it "Rome."
Calm, of the antique grandeur, ripe to be
Named with the noblest of her history.

He would have Romanized your Rome-controlled
Her glory, lordships, gods, in a new mould.
Her spirits' fervor would have melted in

The hundred cities with her; made a twin

Vesuvius and the Capitol; and blended

Strong Juvenal's with the soul, tender and splendid,

Of Dante-smelted old with new alloy

Stormed at the Titans' road full of bold joy

Whereby men storm Olympus. Italy,

Weep!-This man could have made one Rome of thee!