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Europe was against him he needed no bidding. He urged upon his sovereign 'infinite consideration' for Garibaldi, but expressed his belief that the latter 'will be overjoyed to lay his dictatorship at the feet of your Majesty.' He judged his 'fiercest enemy' aright. On October 21 the plebiscite on which Cavour insisted was taken; and Naples and Sicily declared, with few dissentients, for annexation. At this supreme crisis Garibaldi proved himself hardly less great than Cavour.

On October 26 Garibaldi and Victor Emmanuel met; on November 7 they rode into Naples side by side. Garibaldi's work was done. He had added to his master's crown a 'new and more brilliant jewel'; he had commended the sovereign to his new subjects; and then, refusing all rewards and decorations, he went quietly away to his island home in Caprera. Francis II held out for some months at Gaeta; but on February 13, 1861, the town surrendered. On February 18 a Parliament representing all parts of Italy save Venetia and the city of Rome met at Turin. The Union of North and South was formally cemented; and Victor Emmanuel reigned over twenty-three million Italian subjects. On June 6, 1861, Cavour passed away.

It is a thankless task to distribute among the 'makers' the precise share of credit for the 'making' of Italy; but we can hardly better Mr Trevelyan's philosophical and temperate summary. In his pages we see

'by how narrow a margin Italy in her great year escaped another disaster like that of 1848; with what skill and fortune she avoided foreign interference, while she achieved her union against the will of all the great European Powers except England; what gross political and military mistakes stultified the powerful resistance which the Pope and the King of Naples might have set up; how Garibaldi's luck and genius and the psychological atmosphere of a triumphant revolution again and again produced military results contradictory to the known science of war; how the first check to his career northwards, when Capua held out against him in September, occurred at the very moment when the wiser friends of Italy were beginning to pray that he might get no nearer to the walls of Rome; how, in the contest waged for six months between Cavour from his chamber at Turin and Garibaldi from his shifting bivouacs on the Southern Apennines,


the divergent views of the two patriots as to the utmost pace at which the redemption could be pushed on were finally compromised exactly at the right point, so as to secure the essential union of Italy without the immediate attack on Rome and Venice which must have imperilled all.

'The mass of the nation supported both Cavour and Garibaldi; and it was this that saved the situation. But many of the principal actors were naturally forced to group themselves behind one or other of the two chiefs. . . . If Cavour had succeeded in annexing Sicily in June, and if he had been relieved from the competition of the revolutionary bands, the great Powers would not have permitted him to attack either Naples or the Papal territory. If, on the other hand, the Garibaldini had succeeded in attacking Rome, Napoleon III would have been forced to undo all that they had accomplished for Italy. The principle of audacity and the principle of guidance, both essential for successful revolutions, had each in 1860 an almost perfect representative.' ('Making of Italy,' pp. 2, 3.)

It is admirably said; and with this judgment we may take leave of two authors whose task it has been to raise in the English tongue a worthy monument to the Italian Risorgimento. The life-work of Cavour was just short of completion when he died. It was left to his Teutonic counterpart to place the coping stones upon the edifice he had so laboriously raised. Bismarck's attack on Austria gave Venetia to Italy in 1866; his war against Napoleon caused France finally to relax her hold on Rome. The departure of the French troops left Victor Emmanuel face to face with the Pope. Once more the King appealed to the Holy Father' with the affection of a son, with the faith of a Catholic, with the soul of an Italian,' to acquiesce in the consummation of Italian unity. The appeal merely evoked the inevitable non possumus. A show of force had, therefore, to be applied. On September 20, 1870, the royal troops entered Rome; a plébiscite, almost unanimous, approved annexation; and on June 2, 1871, Victor Emmanuel made his triumphal entry into the historic and predestined capital. The dreams of the patriots were at last fulfilled.



WHEN Naaman the Syrian turned away from Elisha in a rage, it was by a comparison of rivers that he showed his passionate pride in the glories of his own land: Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?' Yet, if Jordan were as nothing in comparison with the rivers of Damascus, were not Pharpar and Abana themselves as nothing in comparison with Euphrates,' that great river, the River Euphrates,' whose fame will echo down the centuries of faith for ever? Besides, there were other and still larger streams, of Asian and African renown, and real and fabled immensity. There were giants in those days among the old-world rivers.

But a new world came into the ken of man, and set other and mightier standards of natural greatness among the rivers of the earth. Imagine the wonder of the first western voyagers when they drew up the fresh water of the Amazon, while they were still far out of sight of land, and surrounded by what they had still supposed to be the vast saltness of the South Atlantic. What a river, which could pour its own 'pomp of waters unwithstood' over the very ocean! Later on, this same river was found to be so astonishingly navigable that the largest sea-going ships could pass inland, without a hindrance, for at least three thousand miles-as far as England is from Equatoria. Surely this must be the greatest of all fresh waters, old or new. It springs from the Andean fastness of perpetual snow, receives the tribute of a hundred tropical streams-each one of which surpasses many a principal river of Europeand then flows out to sea, a long day's sail, on its triumphant course, still the Amazon and still fresh.

But, if the whole of the Amazon and all its tributaries, and all the other rivers in the Old World and the New, with all their tributaries, and every lake in every land as well, were all to unite every drop of their fresh waters, they could not equal those which are held in the single freshwater reservoir of the five Great Lakes of the St Lawrence. So, if the St Lawrence River itself, and its many tributaries and myriads of minor lakes, are added

in, we find how much more than half of all the world's fresh water is really Laurentian. But even this is not all. There is more salt water in the mouth and estuary of the St Lawrence than in all the mouths and all the estuaries of all other rivers. Moreover, all the tides of all these other rivers do not together form so vast a volume as that which ebbs and flows inlandward between Belle Isle and Lake St Peter, nine hundred miles apart. Thus, in each and all the elements of native grandeur, the Laurentian waters-salt and fresh, tidal and lake-are not only immeasurably first among their rivals, taken singly, but exceed all their rivals united together, throughout the world.

Mere size, however, is a vacuous thing to conjure with. Even the St Lawrence would be nothing to glory in if it could only boast a statistical supremacy of so many gallons of water. But its lasting appeal is to a higher sense than this, to the sense of supreme delight in the consummate union of strength and beauty of beauty that is often stern and wild, with strength that is sometimes passive; but always in both together.

Look at those most eastern gateways of the whole New World-the Straits of Cabot and Belle Isle. The narrow passage of Belle Isle may flow between a grim stretch of Labrador and a wild point of Newfoundland. But it is a worthy portal, and its island a worthy sentinel, with seven hundred feet of dauntless granite fronting the forces of the North Atlantic. The much wider Cabot Strait is sixty miles across; but both its bold shores are in view of each other. Cape North is four hundred, Cape Ray a thousand feet higher than Belle Isle. There can be no mistake about the exact points at which you enter Laurentian waters, when you have such landmarks as these to bring abeam. Nor is there any weak touch of indistinction about the Long Range of Newfoundland, which runs north and south between these straits for over three hundred miles, often at a height of two thousand feet. This Long Range forms the base of the whole island stronghold, which throws its farthest salient the same distance forward to Cape Race, whose natural bastion served for centuries as the universal landfall of every voyage to America.

Newfoundland is an 'island of the sea,' if ever there

was one. Nowhere else does the sea enter so intimately into the life of a country and a people, calling, always calling, along a thousand miles of surf-washed coastline, echoing loudly up a hundred resounding fiords that search out the very heart of the land, whisperingly through a thousand snug little lisping 'tickles'-but calling, always calling its sons away to the fishing grounds, east and north and west, and sometimes to the seafaring ends of the earth.

Newfoundland is as large as Wales and Ireland put together; yet it stands in an actual contraction of the mouth of the St Lawrence, which is four hundred miles across from Battle Harbour to Cape Breton. Inside, the Gulf is another hundred miles wider again, between Labrador and Nova Scotia, and large enough to hold England and Scotland. So the entire mouth of the St Lawrence could easily contain the whole of the British Isles. The three principal Gulf islands are historic Cape Breton, garden-like Prince Edward Island, and Anticosti, which, though the least of the three, is over a hundred and twenty miles long. There is a whole zone of difference between the north and south shores of the Gulf, between the gaunt sub-arctics of Labrador and the maize fields and lush meadow lands of Acadia, where, as the old French writers assure us, 'everything will grow that grows in France, except the olive.'

The Gulf is the deepest of river mouths-a deep sea of its own, round all its shores, with lonely deep-sea islands St Paul's, Bryon, the Magdalens, and Bird Rocks. The Magdalens are a long and brilliant crescent of yellow sand-hills, bright green grass, dark green clumps of spruce, and red cliffs of weathered sandstone. But Deadman's Island stands gloomily apart, its whole bulk forming a single monstrous corpse, draped to the water's edge. The Bird Rocks are two sheer islets, ringed white from base to summit with lines of sea-gulls. A lighthouse now occupies the top of the larger rock; but, on a moonlit night, the smaller still looks like a snowcapped mountain, from the mass of gannets asleep on it.

The Gulf has many wild spots, but none so wild as Labrador. And this is all the more striking because of the closeness of civilisation, old and new. At Bradore Bay you are in view of the continual come and go of

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