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very smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt culpable in having won them.

At length he read, in the newspaper, an account of his brother's sudden death, and an earnest request that he would himself return to an afflicted father. He disclosed this change in his circumstances to Bianca and to Filippo. He returned to his parent and watched by him as he slowly sunk under a lingering disease. During this time he wrote often to Bianca and received from her letters which assured him of her fidelity. As soon as the last honours were paid to his father's remains, he em

barked for Genoa.

The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene, but the moon arose in all her fullness and beauty, and shed the tender light so dear to lovers, over the romantic coast of Sestri. My whole soul was bathed in utterable tenderness. I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should pass in wandering with Bianca by the light of that blessed moon.

A new suspicion darted across my mind what!' exclaimed I-do you then fear him--is he unkind to you tell me,' reiterated I, grasping her hand and looking her eagerly in the face-tell me -dares he use you harshly!'

'No! no! no!' cried she, faltering and embarrass

clustering about her face; darted a glance at me;
uttered a piercing shriek, and would have fallen to
the earth, had I not caught her in my arms.
her to my bosom; my voice stifled in sobs of con-
Bianca! my own Bianca!' exclaimed I, folding
vulsive joy. She lay in my arms without sense or
motion. Alarmed at the effects of my own pre-ed; but the glance at her face had told me volumes.
cipitation, I scarce knew what to do. I tried by a I saw in her pallid and wasted features, in the prompt
thousand endearing words to call her back to con- terror and subdued agony of her eye, a whole his-
sciousness. She slowly recovered, and half open- tory of a mind broken down by tyranny. Great
ing her eyes-' where am I?' murmured she faint- God! and was this beauteous flower snatched from
ly. 'Here,' exclaimed I, pressing her to my me to be thus trampled upon. The idea roused me
bosom, Here! close to the heart that adores you; to madness. I clinched my teeth and my hands;
in the arms of your faithful Ottavio!'
I foamed at the mouth; every passion seemed to
Oh no! no! no!' shrieked she, starting into have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava
sudden life and terror-away! away! leave me! boiled within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me
leave me!'
in speechless affright. As I strode by the window
She tore herself from my arms; rushed to a cor- my eye darted down the alley. Fatal moment! I
ner of the saloon, and covered her face with her beheld Filippo at a distance! My brain was in de-
hands, as if the very sight of me were baleful. I lirium—I sprang from the pavilion, and was be-
was thunderstruck-I could not believe my senses. fore him with the quickness of lightning. He saw
I followed her, trembling, confounded. I endeav-me as I came rushing upon him- he turned pale,
oured to take her hand, but she shrunk from my looked wildly to right and left, as if he would have
very touch with horror.
fled, and trembling drew his sword :-
'Wretch!' cried 1, well may you draw your
weapon!'

Good heavens, Bianca,' exclaimed I, 'what is the meaning of this? Is this my reception after so long an absence? Is this the love you professed for me?'

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It was late at night before we entered the harbour. As early next morning as I could get released from the formalities of landing I threw myself on horseback and hastened to the villa. As I At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through gallopped round the rocky promontory on which her. She turned to me a face wild with anguish. stands the Faro, and saw the coast of Sestri open-No more of that! no more of that!' gasped sheing upon me, a thousand anxieties and doubts sud- talk not to me of love-I-I am married!' denly sprang up in my bosom. There is something fearful in returning to those we love, while yet uncertain what ills or changes absence may have effected. The turbulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I spurred my horse to redoubled speed; he was covered with foam when we both arrived panting at the gateway that opened to the grounds around the villa. I left my horse at a cottage and walked through the grounds that I might regain tranquillity for the approaching interview. Ichid myself for having suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to overcome me; but I was always prone to be carried away by these gusts of the feelings.

'Faithless-perjured- cried I, striding across
the room. But another glance at that beautiful be-
ing in distress, checked all my wrath. Anger could
not dwell together with her idea in my soul.
'Oh Bianca,' exclaimed I, in anguish, could I
have dreamt of this; could I have suspected you
would have been false to me?'

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I spake not another word-I snatched forth a stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated. I sprang upon him with the bloodthirsty feeling of a tiger; redoubled my blows; mangled him in my I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow. A frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until with reitersickness struck to my very heart. I caught at ated wounds and strangling convulsions he expired a window frame for support. For a moment or two, in my grasp. I remained glaring on the counteevery thing was chaos around me. When I recov-nance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back ered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa; her face bu- with its protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks ried in the pillow, and sobbing convulsively. In- roused me from my delirium. I looked round and dignation at her fickleness for a moment overpow-beheld Bianca flying distractedly towards us. My ered every other feeling. brain whirled. I waited not to meet her, but fled from the scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden like another Cain, a hell within my bosom, and a curse upon my head. I fled without knowing whither-almost without knowing why-my only idea was to get farther and farther from the horrors I had left behind; as if I could throw space On entering the garden every thing bore the same between myself and my conscience. I fled to the look as when I had left it; and this unchanged as- She raised her face all streaming with tears, all Apennines, and wandered for days and days among pect of things reassured me. There were the al-disordered with emotion, and gave me one appeal- their savage heights. How I existed I cannot tell leys in which I had so often walked with Bianca; ing look-False to you!they told me you were -what rocks and precipices I braved, and how I the same shades under which we had so often sat dead!' braved them, I know not. I kept on and on-tryduring the noontide heat. There were the same 'What,' said I, 'in spite of our constant corres-ing to outtravel the curse that clung to me. Alas, flowers of which she was fond; and which appear- pondence?' the shrieks of Bianca rung forever in my ear. The ed still to be under the ministry of her hand. Every horrible countenance of my victim was forever bething around looked and breathed of Bianca; hope fore my eyes. and joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a little bower in which we had often sat and read together. A book and a glove lay on the bench. It was Bianca's glove; it was a volume of the Metastasio I had given her. The glove lay in my favourite passage. I clasped them to my heart. All is safe;' exclaimed I, with rapture, she loves me! she is still my own!'

I bounded lightly along the avenue down which I had faltered so slowly at my departure. I beheld her favourite pavilion which had witnessed our parting scene. The window was open, with the same vine clambering about it, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. Oh! how transporting was the contrast in my situation. As I passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a female voice. They thrilled through me with an appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, I felt they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered with agitation. I feared to break in suddenly upon her. I softly ascended the steps of the pavilion The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table; her back was towards me; she was warbling a soft melancholy air, and was occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that she was copying one of my own paintings. I gazed on her for a moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing; a heavy sigh, almost a sob followed. I could no longer contain myself. Bianca! exclaimed I, in a half smothered voice. She started at the sound; brushed back the ringlets that hung

She gazed wildly at me- 'Correspondence! what correspondence?'

'Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my letters?'

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervour-As I hope for mercy, never!'

A horrible surmise shot through my brain-' Who told you I was dead?'

It was reported that the ship in which you embarked for Naples perished at sea.'

But who told you the report?"

She paused for an instant, and trembled-Filippo!'

May the God of heaven curse him!' cried I, extending my clinched fists aloft.

Oh do not curse him-do not curse him!' exclaimed she-He is-he is-my husband!'

This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that had been practised upon me. My blood boiled like liquid fire in my veins. I gasped with rage too great for utterance. I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of horrible thoughts that rushed through my mind. The poor victim of deception before me thought it was with her I was incensed. She faintly murmured forth her exculpation. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more than she meant to reveal. I saw with a glance how both of us had been betrayed. 'Tis well!' muttered I to myself in smothered accents of concentrated fury. He shall account to me for this!' Bianca overheard me.

New terror flashed in

her countenance. For mercy's sake do not meet
him-say nothing of what has passed-for my sake
say nothing to him-I only shall be the sufferer!'

Florula Bostoniensis. A Collection of Plants of Boston and its Vicinity, with their Generic and Specific Characters, principal Synonyms, Descriptions, Places of Growth, and Time of Flowering, and Occasional Remarks. By Jacob Bigelow, M. D. Professor in Harvard University. Member of the Linnæan Societies of London and Paris. Second Edition greatly Enlarged. To which is added a Glossary of the Botanical Terms employed in the Work. Boston, 1824. 8vo. pp. 424. LET not any one of our exclusively literary readers be alarmed at the above title. There may possibly be some among them ready to inquire, whether we seriously intend to write a review of such a book as this; a book which does not even treat of the principles, but is confined to the mere details and technicalities of the science; and which, from necessity, abounds with that mystical language, characteristic of modern science, and peculiarly so of the department of natural history, which none but the initiated can understand. To these

we reply, that, after a few previous remarks, for which we claim their patient indulgence, we do intend to take same notice of the work before us. And "what for no?" Have we not undertaken to cater for all sorts of appetites; to afford something for the gratification of every taste, be it natural or acquired? And do not the lovers of science, and especially of this science of Botany, form a respectable class of the reading community? some of whom, we are willing to believe, may be found among the readers of the Literary Gazette; and we should feel well rewarded for our pains, if any thing we could say to another class of readers, who may be favoured with leisure and opportunity, should take from them even one individual, and add him to the former.

The importance of a knowledge of this science in the medical profession, is so obvious as to render it quite unnecessary to say any thing at present on that point. In Agriculture, too, its usefulness will be generally admitted,―for there are some who would willingly confine the study of this to men of these pursuits; and to this class belong those professedly literary men, whose surprise we have ventured to anticipate at the commencement of this article. But there are other reasons why we would recommend the cultivation of this science to the general scholar, and to all who can find leisure from the cares and perplexities of business to indulge in its pursuit.

then; but in wandering from field to field | tory, this of Botany may well be the favor-
in pursuit of flowers, the body is invigorat-ite. The science of Mineralogy is yet in
ed with exercise without our perceiving its infancy; there is too much conjecture
that it is a labour, our toil is turned into and uncertainty in it. The specimen be
pleasure; and while as a relaxation and an fore you may be one thing, or it may be
exercise it serves a better purpose than another, or it may be something between
before, we are laying up a stock of new them both; and different persons, though
treasures in the memory, for future use or equally skilful, may decide differently in
pleasure.
doubtful cases. Organic nature, both veg-
etable and animal, is nearly free from this
objection; but the various departments of
Zoology, beside treating of subjects more
difficult to be procured for private examin-
ation, cannot be pursued to much extent
without a sacrifice of animal life, and a de-
gree of cruelty which would, of course, de-
tract from the pleasure they might other-
wise afford to the inquisitive mind. Botany
combines the distinctness and certainty
which recommend many branches of Zool-
ogy, with the consciousness that we cause
no suffering in examining that which has
no sensibility to pleasure or to pain. This,
then, is a source of unmingled pleasure ;-
unless there be any whose enthusiastic
feelings may have led them to adopt, in so-
ber earnest, the poetical faith of Words-
worth.

Another reason for recommending the study of these sciences to our readers, is the habit of accurate observation which they can hardly fail to introduce. In this respect they serve nearly the same purpose in cultivating the faculty of attention, which the science of Geometry is allowed to do in improving the reasoning powers; they cause us to examine more closely and accurately, and to see much which we might otherwise pass without noticing. If some of those persons, who pride themselves on their exclusively literary attainments, had bestowed a portion of their time on the pursuits we are now recommending, they would not have yet to learn, that our woodlands and our water-courses, nay, even our stagnant ponds and marshes, produce many wild flowers which rival in splendour and beauty the choicest of those which our cultivated gardens boast.

We are aware of the liability of some minds to pursue a favorite subject with avidity till they seem to have quite forgotten, that there is more than one source of pleasure or of instruction opened to men, We hold that all knowledge is desirable and learn to regard every thing else as which may be acquired without neglecting made to be subservient to their primary the necessary practical duties of life; pursuit. But such persons, as we have aldoubtless there are some minds so pecu- ready suggested, belong to no particular liarly constituted, or, perhaps, so perverted department of science, or of literature. by an erroneous education, as to make that There are many of these to be found enpoison, which in their more healthy state grossed with the studies we are recomwould have been nutritious. But these mending, but they may be found in all othare the exceptions to a general rule; the ers. For ourselves, we have never yet acmore extensive our acquirements are, quired that kind of taste, and have no the more abundant the resources from disposition to recommend it,—which can which we are enabled to draw, the greater see as much beauty in the plants of the will be the probability of accomplishing a herbarium as in those of the meadow, or good or great design in the mental, as well examine the green amaranth that infests as in the material world. If any portion our gardens with as much satisfaction as of these acquisitions is used to no purpose, the splendid lily that just before blossomed or to a purpose worse than none, it is the in the same bed. And we do think that fault of him who uses it, and not of that the prejudice, which supposes there is any which is used; it is not science which thing necessarily connected with these makes men pedantic; the seeds of pedant- studies, or those of similar character, tendry were sown in the mind before the sci-ing to disqualify the mind for the cultivaence was implanted, and they would have sprung up alike with any other mode of culture, or even without cultivation at all. If we should admit that more than a fair proportion of pedantry is to be found among the votaries of natural science, it would only show that these sciences afford a favourable opportunity for the display of that weakness, not that they have any share in its production.

To men of sedentary habits, as literary men generally are, a fondness for natural history will furnish new incentives to exersise. A ramble in the fields, taken as a necessary relaxation from study, and performed with no other purpose, loses half its benefit, and is too often felt as a bur

tion of any other branch of useful or cle-
gant literature, wholly unwarranted. We
should give our views more at large on this
point, and had proposed to do so, when we
began this article, but the subject magni-
fies itself in our hands, and new views open
upon us, which, if pursued, would carry us
quite too far from the work before us; nor
would our limits admit of such digression.
We must content ourselves with observing,
that while our country can boast of such
men as Professor Silliman, and the author
of the work now before us, more will be
done by their personal example than by a
host of arguments, to rescue their favorite
pursuits from such unmerited reproach.

Of all the departments of natural his

Through primrose banks, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle twined its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith, that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

The appearance of this enlarged edition of Dr Bigelow's Plants of Boston, will be hailed with much pleasure by all the lovers of Botany in New England. His happy talent at description is not surpassed, as far as our knowledge has extended, by any writer on American plants. With his description before you, it is scarcely possible to be at a loss, whether the plant in your hand, is, or is not, the one to which he refers. He sees every peculiarity, and so describes it, that one must be but ill acquainted with the language of the science, if he can find something else in another plant, and mistake it for that of which he is reading. The number of plants not described by our author in his first edition, compelled us to abandon his work for Eaton's Manual, not neglecting, however, to avail ourselves of Bigelow's more ample and satisfactory descriptions, when they were to be had. Eaton's catalogue is sufficiently comprehensive; but in many cases where the specific characters are founded on nice, and not very obvious distinctions, we have found it difficult to determine the species by his descriptions; this difficulty is in a great measure removed from Dr Bigelow's work, by giving the specific characters in a larger type, and distinct from the rest of the description, and thus enabling us to see at one glance what they are. We have, during the last seven years, as opportunity offered, paid some attention to the plants in two different neighbourhoods in the more southern part of this State, and in one in Rhode Island; and we do not now recollect

more than about twenty species which we have examined, that are not to be found in this enlarged edition of our author's work. Perhaps more attentive and accurate observers would have found a greater number; but we would infer from this, that the book in its present form is sufficiently copious for the purpose which it is designed to serve; and that the botanical student, in this section of our country, will be likely to meet with few plants that are not described in it; and yet, as nearly, or quite all of these twenty are to be found in Eaton's Manual, it would hardly be expedient to throw that aside.

Our author retains the whole twenty-four classes of Linnæus, differing in this respect from many of the later botanical writers, who reduce the number to twenty-two, rejecting two of those classes. We shall not take upon ourselves to decide, whether it is better to reject or to retain them, but we could wish a uniformity in the arrangement might be adopted, which should extend, at least, through all the books on American plants; that the student who occasionally consults different catalogues and descriptions, may not be perplexed on finding the same plant occupying so different a place in another arrangement, from that in which he had been accustomed to see it. It is very desirable that every unnecessary stumbling-block should be removed from the path of the beginner. The Glossary which is added to this edition is a valuable appendage; and we should suppose that the possession of this book, containing, as it does, about twice the number of plants described in the former edition, would be considered by every practical botanist in New England as indispensable.

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able addition to the work, more especially | partment, has attained an eminence hithif accompanied by some of our author's erto unsurpassed in fertility, richness, and own observations upon them; for we think beauty. But while a glorious light has an attention to this singular tribe of plants, been shining every where else, darkness so far at least as to distinguish the genera, has still enveloped the stage. It would be would be interesting even to those who sufficient to awaken a feeling of transport, study this science for amusement only. and a burst of gladness, to see but one sinWe had noticed in the former edition of gle ray falling there. And if, therefore, this work, some apparent errors in describ- we should find, on reading this spirited, ining the colours of the flowers, and we do genious, and popular production, that it yet not find them corrected in this. For in- falls far short of the doings of former days, stance, the Myosotis palustris, said by our is beneath the proper standard of the times, author to be rose-coloured, to our eyes is of and even radically and irremediably defeca delicate blue. The Trichostema dichoto- tive; still we must not judge too harshly of ma-Blue curls-and Echium vulgare-Vi-its English admirers, nor wonder that they per's Bugloss-both of which are said to be should applaud it as they did. purple, are also blue; while the Epilobium After a most careful perusal and reperuangustifolium-Willow herb-and Liatris sal, we must say that we are not at all surscariosa, both called blue by our author, prised at its favorable reception on the appear to us to be decidedly purple. In- stage. It was made for the stage, just as deed, there seems to be much confusion of certain celebrated razors were made to the purple and blue in many parts of the sell; and is good for little else. We do book. We know very well, that it is a not mean to speak rashly nor flippantly. maxim among botanists to piace no reli- But it must be clear to every impartial ance on the colour, and that in some flow-reader, that it was made with a view to ers this is very variable; but we have seen stage effect alone, and while to that end it no variation in the plaats we have men-is admirably suited, it wants other qualities tioned, in any of the situations in which which are necessary to render it a first rate we have observed them; and if it be performance. If there be brilliant flashes worth while to mention the colour at all, it of wit, high poetical thought and diction, is surely desirable to name it correctly. and constant breakings in of a strong and This is one of the most prominent charac-original genius;-this is what a writer of ters of the plant, and we know from expe- such powers could not help, and we give rience, that the young student, while en- him, we confess, small credit for it. His deavouring to ascertain the name of a new work, as a whole, is constructed on a founplant, will place dependence upon it; and dation essentially false, and with notions if the description is faulty in this respect, thoroughly destructive of all enduring emiit will often perplex and mislead him. We nence;—so that while he has put together should venture to express our regret that a collection of brilliant and enviable clapthe work appeared so late in the season, as traps, he has formed but a poor comedyto deprive us of its benefit for a great part not a true comedy—not a classical comedy. But we should be thought undeserving of the present year, did we not recollect Every thing about it is forced, unnatural, the name of critics, if we could point out that these remarks will appear at a time so affected, we had almost said mechanical. no defects in the book that we are review-much more out of season. We might say There is scarcely a trait of real living naing; and will, therefore, say, that, in our ture, or a touch of true pathos, or an exopinion, the genus Vaccinium, in an Amerpression of simple feeling; nor-which is ican book, should be placed in the tenth the inevitable consequence is the slightclass, where Persoon and Pursh have placed est interest excited in the character or fate it. Eaton tells us, "there are about twentyof any one of the persons. By this last five species in North America, not one of standard, unquestionably the just one, we them octandrous, and barely three octanconsent that our opinion should be tried. drous species in Europe." The cranberry, We venture to say, that no man ever did, or which is octandrous, has been made a sepaever will, in hearing or reading this comedy, care a groat for the plot or the characters; all he will remember will be some smart repartees, some good and some bad puns, some splendid declamation, some striking poetry. But he will acknowledge no sympathy with the perplexity of Lorenzo, or the insulted and suffering gentleness of Victoria, or the nobleness of Stefano. These are matters of no consequence to him. He is taken up with the boisterous buffonery of Torrento, and the exquisite affectation of the dandy officers. And we ask if that play can be accounted to have attained the object of the legitimate drama, or to deserve a place among the "classics of the English stage," which accomplishes only this?

rate genus, Oxycoccus, we think on sufficient grounds, by some of our botanists. We have frequently examined the common Agrimony-Agrimonia eupatoria-in different situations, and found it invariably containing but five stamens; this, surely, is of sufficient importance to be noticed in the description. We observe the Sabbatia chloroides, placed in the fifth class, is particularly mentioned as sometimes containing twelve stamens; and there is quite as much necessity that a plant of the eleventh class should be noticed as having only five. We recollect, when we first found this plant to have searched the fifth class in vain fer its description; and not till long after did we, by accident, discover what it was. The generic characters of the different plants of the fungus, or mushroom tribe, placed after the ferns, would have been an accept

something too of the handsome style in
which this book is published, but we re-
collect that the publishers in this city have
of late years done themselves so much credit
in this respect, that the execution of this
work, excellent as it is, can present no par-
ticular claim to our notice on that account.

Pride shall have a Fall. A Comedy, in Five
Acts-with Songs. New York, 1824.
18mo. pp. 86.

A NEW play, popular in representation, and
at the same time able to take a place with the
literature of the age, is such a phenomenon
that we seized with eagerness the opportu-
nity of reading this celebrated production.
It comes across the water recommended by
plaudits loud and long, both within the
house and out of the house-from the pit,
boxes, and galleries of the theatres, and
from the studies and garrets of the critics.
For a long period a curse seems to have
brooded over the genuine and respectable
drama; and the apparent breaking forth
from its influence in this essay, is doubtless
one cause of the extraordinary raptures How the author should thus egregiously
which have attended its publication. The err, is easily seen. He wrote for the
literature of the age in almost every de-stage-for the visible, corporeal, wooden,

and scene-shifting stage. He thought of nothing but the stage, with its right and left hand doors, the prompter's bell, and the painted streets and fields. He did not put himself in the place of the persons whom he introduced, and consider how in actual life, as real bonâ fide men and women, they would naturally feel, and think, and act, and talk; he only fancied them standing, and strutting, and screaming, on Covent Garden boards, and considered what would go off well there. He did not see them in his mind's eye as human beings, truly living and acting in the world; but as actors on the stage, dressed up to play a part; not to express their own souls, but to show off to an audience. He saw no lovers, he sent his genius into no private dwellings, into no hearts torn with passion, or disturbed with anxiety; he only went to the playhouse, and figured to himself Mr Kemble, Mr Jones, and Miss Paton. In this artificial and cold-blooded way of going to work, he has incontestably succeeded in crowding the theatre; but be it remembered, it is the degenerated theatre-filled by those who applaud as loudly the rope-dancers, the harlequins, and the horses, as Shakspeare and Garrick; who may applaud, therefore, not for nature, for truth, for sentiment, but for artifice and trick, and for the very reason, that there is in it neither nature nor truth. Even what has been quoted as fine poetry, and such it certainly is, has yet in many instances this inherent and damning defect, of being unnatural and out of place,-forced in, head and shoulders, not because it belongs there, but because it will make a figure. We should be easily persuaded that all such passages were random scraps from the author's common-place book, which he was afraid of losing, and therefore pasted them upon this work wherever he could make them stick. We have thus frankly stated our opinion of the one grand and pervading fault of this sparkling and amusing play. We cannot fully justify our opinion by an examination so little minute as the limits of our paper require-indeed, we can hope to be fully justified only by those who will carefully read the whole play for themselves. What we have room for, we will bring forward.

The plot turns upon an affront received by Lorenzo, a Sicilian Captain of Hussars, and the attempt of his brother officers to revenge it. He was a lover of Victoria, whose parents, having obtained a title, compelled her to discard him. This being deemed an insult to the whole corps, they take a wild profligate from jail, and send him to woo Victoria in the disguise of a magnificent nobleman. This is giving pride its fall; though it was but a small one, since Lorenzo turns out to be that nobleman's son, and of course, marries his mistress very happily; while the impostor, Torrento, proves to be an heir of estate and title, and marries Leonora, Victoria's

sister.

The play begins with a violent bustle, and bustle is the word to the very last.

The second scene introduces Ventoso, the new made Count, and his lady, who cause their daughter to reject Lorenzo in their presence, contrary to her own inclination. We may find a specimen here.

Ven. Countess, I'll not be made a common prey
To all your fortune-hunters. Must I have
My house turned inside out, my daughters fool'd,
My lungs chok'd up with asthma ?-So, prepare!-
I'll build a hut a hundred miles off, wife!
Coun. Here is rebellion. (aside)-Signior, spare
your speech;

I'm mistress here, and have been-
Ven. (Forty years!)
(aside in vexation.
Coun. If girls are handsome, noble, young and

rich

Ven. Satan's about the house!-You're all the

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Coun. (aside in surprise) Here are bold words-his ancient spirit's roused; That I had thought dried up this many a day; Here's his o'erflowing torrent of fierce speech, Well, take your way, my lord! (retreating. (I'll have that leger burned.)—(aside) There's news arrived.

This speech of Ventoso is very smart, and has been highly praised. But how came it here?

Lor. (turning on Ventoso)—What treachery's this? Your answer, Sir. I'll not be scorn'd in vain! Ven. (agitated)-Saint Anthony save us! foresaw it all

I

Left here alone with this-rhinoceros! (aside. (To Lorenzo)-Nay, Captain, hear but reason;

let's be friends.

My wife-all woman kind must have their will— Please her, and buy a title.

Lor. Title, fool!

Ven. (following him, soothingly) Then half the world are fools. The thing's dogcheap,

Down in the market, fifty below par;
They have them at all prices, stars and strings;
Blue boars, red lions, hogs in armour, goats,
Aye, from a ducat upwards-you'll have choice,
Swans with two necks, gridirons and geese! By Jove,
My doctor, nay, my barber, is a knight,
And wears an order at his button-hole,
Like a field marshal.

What man in Ventoso's situation would ever think of talking thus?

The second act is made up of scenes among the officers of the Hussars, which are the best drawn characters in the play, because they are designed to represent men whose whole being is artificial and affected. There is sometimes too near an approach to farce; but perhaps this should not be complained of.

Col. Not another word, Major. Here's some one at the door. This quarrel must not be made a town-talk. (the door opens, Lorenzo enters, and throws himself on a chair, dejectedly) Oh, it's Lorenzo! why, man, what's the matter with you?-any bad news, Captain?

(the Cornet and Major return to the table.

Cor. The sublime dejection of a disastrous love. (aside to the Major. Cor. (plays)-Game. Col. Lorenzo, will you play? Lor. Excuse me, Colonel; I am not in spirits; I beg I may not disturb any one.

Cor. Quite gone out! Dull as a select party of the first distinction, 'pon honour.

Col. Stir, Lorenzo! This doubloon for the doctor who will find out his distemper.

(flinging money on the table. Maj. Poh! its the military epidemic--the coming on of the half-pay,-a cursed complication of disorders.

Lor. (rises, gradually recovering his spirits) The simple fact is, my good friends, I am rather out of temper just now-I have been extremely insulted.

All. Insulted!

Maj. You had a fair thrust for it, I hope? (sternly. Lor. No, confound it, that was out of the question. "Twas by a woman.

Cor. Oh, jilted! nothing more? Ha, ha! It might have happened to the handsomest man in the service; for example-But on what grounds were you turned out? (to Lorenzo.

Lor. (angrily)---Turned out, sir? Cor. Mille pardons! I mean, exiled, expatriated, made horrible.

Col. Eh?-The infidelity all on one side, I suppose,

Maj. Were you in doubt whether you were most in love with the daughter, the mother, or the grand-mother?

Cor. Were you miscellaneous in the house?

Pray, who is the fair deceiver, after all?

Lor. (fretfully-Old Ventoso's daughter. Now let me alone.

Col. He by the public gardens; the late merchant-indeed? (haughtily. Maj. Old Figs and Raisins! Ha, ha, ha! Cor. Absolutely ;-old Allspice and Sugarcanes! Muffs and meerschaums!

take

Col. So, Captain, the old trafficker refused to into the firm ? you (haughtily. Maj. The veteran grocer did not like the green recruit. Ha, ha!

Cor. The green!-superb! How picturesque !The Major's from the Emerald Isle. (they laugh. Maj. By the glory of the Twentieth; you might have turned to trade in your full uniform, my boy. (to Lorenzo.

Cor. Hung out your shabrac for an apron.
Maj. Cut soap with your sabre.

Col. And made a scale of your sabretache. Maj. For the regular sale and delivery of salt, pepper,

Col. And Indigo.

Cor. No; that's for the Blues.

Lor. Gentlemen, I find I must bid you good night. This depresses--this offends me. I'm in no temper for jesting.

We all know you to be a capital, high-flavour'd felCol. Poh! Lorenzo, no parting in ill humour. low; but, as one of us, you might have consulted your rank,--the honour of the regiment,-in this city connexion.

Cor. By all that's dignified, one of the Royal Sicilian, the Twentieth!should not be conscious of the existence of any thing under a Duke.

Maj. He may nod to a General, eh?-now and then;-Cornet.

Cor. When the streets are empty;-but he should be familiar with no man

Col. Under a Prince of the blood.

Cor. Nor with him, unless on guard at Court. Lor. (half laughing)--Gentlemen, I am perfectly sensible of your infinite superiority-but-unfortunately, all the world are not so accessible to conviction. The venerable lady of the mansion's last words to me were, that she would not suffer a daughter of hers to marry any Trooper of us all. All. Trooper! (in various irritation.) Col. Beelzebub! Trooper! Cor. Muffs and meerschaums! Maj. By the glory of the Twentieth!

together.

Lor. Gentlemen of the Twentieth-that was the very word.

Maj. I'll go instantly and challenge the whole house, from the count to the kitchen maid.

Cor. Let us send all the farriers to shoe the horses in front of these parvenus; we'll hammer them deaf.

Col. Or order the trumpeters to practise six hours a night under their balcony. (laughing. Cor. Or, take signal vengeance

Maj. Aye, to exterminate the whole neighbourhood

Cor. No man has it more in his power than yourself, Major;-sing them one of your--National melodies.

(they laugh, the Colonel pacifies the Major. Col. What kind of existence is this dangerous jilt? Have you seen her, gentlemen?

Maj. I have a hundred times. She was always on parade when I was officer of the day. A tough affair, with a vinegar visage; a compound ofCor. Her old father's cellars. Col. A claret complexion. Maj. Blue-ruin lips.

Cor. Tongue thick as Tokay.

Maj. And eyes, like hock in green glasses.
Col. With, as I presume, no small share of the

Tartar at bottom.

Cor. Tartar! Muffs and meerschaums! Hot

tentot!

Lor. (rising from his chair)-Colonel! I can listen to this no longer. I insist upon it that the subject shall be dropped. You don't know the lady. She's lovely, incomparable. Maj. Aye, aye, a Venus of course. (half aside. Cor. Yes, if ever there was one at the Cape. (half aside. Col. You may leave the lady to her natural fate, the trader is rich. She will throw herself away, according to the manner of all women who have money, and the business will be done by some Scoundrel with a plausible leg, a romance on his tongue, and a pair of dice in his pocket.

Lor. (starting from his reverie) - That will be the most appropriate of all punishments! Her pride shall be mortified. She shall make some degrading match.

Maj. Some Sicilian Quack.
All. (murmur) Sicilian!

Col. Or French Valet!

Cor. Or English Blacklegs, or

Maj. No, farther Westward, sir, if you please. (stopping him.

Cor. But where are we to find this impostor? Maj. Ha, ha, ha! Sweet simplicity of youth, find an impostor. Why, man, you'll find him in ninety-nine out of an hundred, and that of the best company. But I'll find him for you within a hundred yards of this spot. You know my friend is governor of the jail; I beg his Generalship's par

don, of the Castle.

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Lor. He must not be a ruffian; I will not have her insulted; the fellow must be decent.

Maj. My love, he shall be magnificent; as fine as a Duke, or a Drum-Major. He shall be as full of fuss and feathers as a new laid Aid-de-Camp. Proceeding to the jail, they find Torrento, and agree with him to act the impostor. Tor. Gentlemen, there is no time to be lost. My toilette--my toilette!

Cor. The fellow shall have my whole war-establishment. My parade moustaches, my velvet boots, my embroidered toothpicks--

Tor. But my stud, my team, gentlemen. A swindler's nothing unless he drives four in hand. Col. True, true! Major, you can lend him your bays for a day or two.

Cor. Bays! much more easily lent than one's laurels, Majer. (laughing. Maj. What, Sir? (the Colonel pacifies him)-I | will lend him a sabre as long as the Straits of Gibraltar, and a meerschaum that smokes like Mount

[exit.

Etna;—a devilish deal more smoke than fire--like | I'd make her wed a hippopotamus
a young soldier, Cornet, my dear.
Ven. A hippopotamus! [laughing] 'Twixt son

(the Cornet turns away angrily, the Colonel pa-
cifies him.

Col. He shall have my last uniform.

Tor. No, Colonel; my morals and my wardrobe
may have set light enough upon me, but they shall
both sit lighter, before I take up the abandoned hab-
its of the Hussars. I must have carte-blanche
for a hotel, an equipage-a wardrobe-or here I
stay.

Col. Carte-blanche! The fellow will make us
bankrupt. He'll break the regiment.
Tor. Break the regiment? No!-I don't aspire

to be a national benefactor.

Maj. Bravo! your scheme?

Tor. The whole affair needs not cost you a sequin. It can be done on credit. Why, if it were not done on credit, nobody would take me for a man of fashion.-When the cash is called for, you have only to follow the most approved examples; take the benefit-of those walls, and--sponge.

Maj. How the devil did he get his knowledge of
first principles?

Cor. The haut-ton to a hair.-How rapidly the
rascal fashionizes!--You can give him the lady's
picture, Major. It will be his commission.
The reception of the counterfeit Prince
is excellently bustling and ridiculous.

flourish of clarionets and horns outside.
("His Highness the Prince de Pindemonté" is
announced by successive Servants, outside.
Bern. (entering, announces)—His Highness the
Prince de Pindemonté.
(the Septett begins, and, at the second verse, a
train of Valets, richly dressed, enter. Tor-
rento, magnificently costumed, follows, and
flings himself into a chair; the Valets rang-
ing themselves behind.

(Torrento reclining himself indolently.
Tor. Bravo! bravissimo, superb.--Begone!
I'm weary of you.
(the singers retire.
(Looking round)--Showy pictures, plate,
Tapestry.-"Twill do.
(aside.

(To Bernardo)--Pray, fellow, who are those,
Bowing beside me?

(To an attendant)-Carlo, bring my musk.
Coun. (to Ventoso)-Address the Prince--

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Tor. [half aside.}
[With hauteur] Honour! This moment there are
Waiting, with each an heiress in his hand;
I leave them to despair. The Emperor
Offered me three archduchesses at once,
With provinces for portions.--I declined.
Ven. [haranguing] This day eclipse our house!
Coun.
A Grand Signior!

Tor. Aye, there's my whisker'd friend the Ot

toman,

A brilliant spirit, spite of Mahomet,
The finest judge in Europe of champagne-
He would have given his haram, wife and all.
Ven. His wife !--a wise old Turk.

[aside, laughing.
Tor. [impatiently]-Where is the bride?
Coun. She waits your highness' bidding.
Ven. [to the Countess] Listen, wife;
No tyranny. She must not be compelled. [aside.
Coun. (to Ventoso aside, angrily]-Hold your
wise tongue-if she's a child of mine,

and wife

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Count--a Tintoret?

Ven. Some martyrdom, or marriage-(all the
same.)
[aside.

The book is full of similar stale jokes about wives and matrimony. Toward the close of this scene is another example of fine poetry out of place, and awkwardly introduced. Torrento is made to utter a set declamation about curiosity, of thirty lines long! In the fifth act, Spado, a servant, favours us with the following description; while all the personages stop short, in the midst of very interesting arrangements, to listen to him!

-[Spado enters]-And here's Spado. What have you done? Have you settled their reception with the jailor. Are the grooms prepared? Are the cavalcade going? [to Spado.

them off: a grand show, sir, private as it was! The Spa. Signior, the cavalcade are gone. I saw

old Count and Countess full of bustle-blunders and Brussels lace, according to custom; the bride full of blushes and tears, according to custom; and the bride's maids, servant maids, and maids of all descriptions, full of laughing and impudence, tattle and white top-knots, also according to custom. I will be revenged on some of them yet.

Lor. Silence, Sir; go out of the room. Spa. To be all but pelted by them; bouncing baggages! By St. Januarius, the hussies sent a peal of tongues after me! Peal of thunder! It was enough to sour all the wine in the island.

[goes, murmuring. There are several situations in which there is room for the display of real emotion, and where the author seems to design tenderness. When we say that the following is the most successful attempt, our readers may judge for themselves of the dearth of genuine natural feeling in the play.

[Victoria, attended by bride-maids, enters. [Lorenzo enters from an opposite door. Lor. Victoria! [irresolutely. Vic. Lorenzo! [she is overwhelmed. [To the Count] There's a dimness on my eyes! Save me, my father. I would rather look Upon the pale and hollow front of death, Than meet that glance.

Lor. [advancing]

Victoria! if your heart-
Coun. Stand back, plebeian! Marry with your
like.
There lies the door.

Begone!

Ven [calling to Torrento]-Prince! take your bride.

(Those wives and daughters!)

Lor. Scorn'd, aspers'd, disdain'd,
For blood, that flows as hotly in my veins
As in an emperor's.

[aside:

[indignantly.

Can birth bequeath

Mind to the mindless; spirit to the vile;
Valour to dastards; virtue to the knave?-
'Tis nobler to stand forth the architect
Of our own fame, than lodge i' the dusty halls
Of ancestry!-To shine before the world,
Like sunrise from the dusk, than twinkle on
In far and feeble starlight!

Here we part;
One kiss, fair traitress! [he kisses her] Death-like
cold and sweet.
And now the world's before me.
This be all,
Early or late, Lorenzo's epitaph:
That he had deem'd it nobler, to go forth,
Steering his sad and solitary prow
Across the ocean of adventurous deeds,

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