THE monuments of Florence do not constitute its only claim to distinction among the cities of Italy. The salubrity of the climate, the beauty of the environs, a degree of liberty which you enjoy nowhere else in Italy, the satisfaction of seeing all the principal news papers of London and Paris, the noble establishments for the promotion of science and the arts, are circumstances which attach many strangers to Florence; add to these solid advantages, that it is the residence of a gay nobility and a magnificent court, and you have an amount of attractions which no city in Italy can equal.

From the monuments I pass to the theatres. Of these I propose to give you some account, in the course of which I shall make some remarks on the Venus of the grand-ducal gallery, and have more to say on the divinity of the Per gola, the two most remarkable personages in Florence after the grand-duke. Of the eight theatres, which serve to amuse the evenings of the Florentine public, the principal is the Teatro della Pergola, (the Pearl), appropriated to the performance of operas. It is, as are some of the others, honoured with the titles of Imperiale and Reale, and the books (which they sell at the door) of the plays which are performed there, bear on the title-page, "Sotto la protezione di sua Altezza Imperiale and Reale Lepoldo, secondo Gran-Duca di Toscana," etc., etc., etc., (under the protection of his imperial and royal highness Leopold the Second, Grand-Duke of Tuscany), etc., etc., etc. The establishment receives an annual sum from the grand duke, as the receipts alone would not be sufficient to defray the expenses, which the amounts paid the principal performers, and the cost of decorations, render very heavy; and he also lends them his soldiers whenever the opera requires any military display. It is here that the whole fashionable world is assembled, and the court is frequently present.

The theatres are open almost every day, but they are more open, if I may so say, on Sunday, than on other days,

and the court as well as other persons, seem more fond of going there on that day.

Suppose one to be sitting alone in the evening, fatigued with the studies of the day, and tired with staying at home, in this case he has only to bend his steps to the Pergola; there let him listen to the voice of Signora Shutz, and sun his soul in the eyes of Signora del Sere; then if the singing and the tragic powers of the first do not shake his inmost soul -more than this, if the smiles of the second do not with resistless force at once ravish his heart, to whatever degree it may have been compromised when he entered the theatre, he must be made of sterner stuff than most other people.

On passing along the street in which the theatre is situated, you find yourself in the hands of power, four sentinels being stationed in the front of the building. On entering, a string of arguments in favour of good order, in the shape of as many muskets, held each by a soldier, is the first object you encounter in one of the vestibules through which you have to pass, and others are stationed farther on, in different parts of the establishment.

The Salle of the Pergola, is a pleasing and rather elegant specimen of theatrical architecture; and, as like all others in Italy, it differs considerably from those in France, England, and the United States; the pit is arranged as in other theatres, but the elevation, instead of first boxes, and then galleries, is divided into five tiers of boxes, one above another, all on the same plan. boxes are all separated by partitions, so that each forms an apartment, where people sit at their ease, converse and receive visits. Many of them are private property, and have the arms of the family on the door, and the owners of them may be said to be at the same time at home and at the opera.

The

The composition of the Salle is simple but well conceived, and the grand difficulty in all theatres, of connecting that part of the elevation which forms the fronts of the boxes with the ornamental façade of the stage is pretty well got over. The material is superb, the whole elevation being stuccoed with scaliogla, a costly substance, generally employed only in the apartments of a palace, and seldom met with out of Italy. Its marble hue affords an admirable ground to the gilded ornaments, which are modestly employed, and to the crimson drapery of the royal box. As a composition of

colours, this interior is extremely chaste, the material itself undisguised by paint, forming the greater part of the surface, and the painted ceiling, the central compartment of which exhibits silver stars on a blue ground, being entirely in keeping with the clear white of the elevation, The polished surface of the scaliogla, the curtains on the fronts of the boxes, the delicacy of the painted and gilded ornaments, the finish of the whole, and the nicety with which it is kept, give to this Salle the air of the interior of an apartment in some vast palace, much more in keeping with the object of such an edifice than the uncomfortable out-ofdoor aspect of some theatres. In the centre of the great arch which divides the Salle from the stage, is a sort of segment of the face of a clock, which indicates the hour to both the audience and the actors. Close to this are placed the arms of the grand-duke, appearing to indicate that the whole establishment is in the possession of the prince. The most imposing object is the box of the grand-duke, placed directly opposite the stage, where it occupies the space of six ordinary boxes, having the length of three and the height of two, rich in crimson and gold, and surmounted by the grand-ducal crown. The interior forms a saloon, superbly decorated, with a ceiling vaulted and painted, and gay with mirrors and wax-lights. What with the unreasonableness of the dimensions, the regal ornaments, and the lure of the interior, it enriches the general aspect of the Salle, and reigns throughout the whole, in opposition to that coldness of colour, and want of relief, which would otherwise be obtrusive features. Close to the stage, between the pilasters on the right side, is another box of the same size with the ordinary ones, similarly ornamented with curtains and a crown, though with less state than the first; this is the private box of the grandduke, the other being reserved for extraordinary occasions.

When the sovereign enters, all hats immediately come off, and are kept off while he remains in the theatre, and he is always received with more or less applause. During the performance, his presence makes itself felt in a very peculiar way; when any passage pleases to such a degree, that its repetition is desired by the audience, they make a great deal of noise mixed with cries of ancora," but they might continue to cry until next morning, unless a sentiment of approbation has also been excited

in the mind of the sovereign; in this case the royal pleasure is expressed by a clapping together of the royal hands, on which signal the performers immediately come forward and repeat the passage; but no clapping from the royal box, and no repetition of a passage can ever take place.

Leopoldo Secondo, the reigning grandduke of Tuscany, who sits on the throne of the Medicis, and tramples under foot the trophies of the republic of Florence, descends, as your readers are aware, from the ancient family of the dukes of Lorraine, to the government of which they were raised toward the middle of the eleventh century; and where, for the seven hundred years which preceded their elevation, they acted not an inconsiderable, or indeed inglorious part, among the secondary princes of Europe.

Besides carrying on, on their own account, as many wars as other princes in their situation, they frequently engaged in the wars and expeditions of the kings of France and the emperors of Germany; sometimes on one side, sometimes on another, without any more regard to the interests of their subjects than any other set of men, in stations so elevated, have generally exhibited. Thus Jean the First fought against the English at the battle of Poitiers, in 1356, where, after performing prodigies of valour, and having two horses killed under him, he was taken prisoner and carried to England. René the Second, defeated in the year 1477, in a furious battle fought under the walls of Nancy, the famous Charles le Témeraire, duke of Burgundy, in which the latter lost his life. Having inherited the claims of d'Anjou, René the First, to the crown of Naples, he was the first of this family who placed in his arms the crowns of Hungary, Naples, Jerusalem, and Arragon.Finally, Charles the Fourth rendered a more important service to Europe, by defeating in 1683, as commander of the imperial forces, the Turkish army of two hundred and forty thousand men, which had laid siege to Vienna.

Then there was Thierri le Vaillant, Ferri le Luitteur, Charles le Hardi, and I know not how many other pugna-> cious personages, in whom the combative qualities of the race seem to have been exhausted; for the present grandduke, fortunately for his subjects, is entirely free from any military mania, and whatever may be his sensations when he reads the exploits of his ancestors, or when he contemplates their monuments

in the church of the Cordeliers at Nancy, his appearance, as he sits in his box at the opera, is that of a man entirely in disposed to follow their example.

Since the last hundred years, the history of their family is connected with important changes in the face of Europe; raised in the person of François Etienne, first grand-duke of Tuscany of the house of Lorraine, to the empire, while the younger branch remains grand-dukes of Tuscany; in the meantime Nancy, their ancient capital, where repose in their gothic tombs, I know not how many generations of their ancestors, has dwindled to the chief town of a French department; and the people of Tuscany, after having seen the last of their plebeian dukes deposited in the splendid mausoleum of San Lorenzo, may find what good they can, in the present state of affairs, in obeying, in the person of their present sovereign, Leopold the Second, a prince of as illustrious blood as any in Italy.

It is an interesting sight to see this individual, descended from so many princes and warriors, and mixed with the blood of every royal family in Europe, seated in his box at the Pergola. As I said before, he is always received with considerable applause, and, on the whole, he deserves it; for if he is not all that he might be, he is not half as bad as the other Italian princes, or onetenth part as bad as he might be, considering the unlimited power of doing evil which is lodged in his hands; indeed, on the contrary, he appears to be a very worthy man, and as fit a person for a sovereign as can be found among the royal families of Europe.

What with his palaces, his equipages, and his guarda di nobili, there is not a more magnificent prince in Italy; and persons who come here from the United States, without passing through England and France, are struck with the splendour and extent of his establishments. First of all, he has in the capital the Palazzo Pitti, in which he might entertain and lodge all the sovereigns of Europe, then palaces and villas in the en virons, and indeed all over Tuscany, and estates without end in Tuscany and Bohemia. His riches, indeed, are enormous, and the illustrious house of Lorraine was never in a more flourishing condition than at present.

When one considers the splendours which surround this individual, the state in which he moves, the figure which he makes at the theatres, one cannot help

thinking how far from improbable are events which might in one day change the political aspect of Tuscany, erase the lions of Lorraine and the balls of the Medicis, from this very Salle of the Pergola, and from all the public edifices in Florence, and display an Italian tricolour from the walls of Palazzo Pitti,

ANECDOTE.

One of the greatest benefactors to the city of Bristol, was Mr. John Whitson, a merchant of that place, who in his life affords a pleasing example of the success in general attendant upon diligence, worth, and honesty. The following anecdote is curious. As Mr. Whitson was one day employed in his private closet, he overheard his nephews loudly conversing in another room, and found the subject of their discourse turn upon himself and the great fortune they were to inherit at his death; and at the same time they declared they would spend it like gentlemen of fashion, in pleasurable and expensive pursuits. The good old gentleman, upon this, burst in upon them at once, and with an honest indignation, told them, that, since he had heard from their own mouths, their resolution with respect to his fortune, they should now hear his: that he had been long a witness to the vicious and abandoned course of life into which they were plunging themselves, and had often remonstrated, to no purpose, against it; that they now stood self-convicted, and to prevent the infamy which they might entail upon him, themselves, and the public, by such irregular excesses, he was resolved to put it entirely out of their power. He, accordingly, made his will soon afterwards, and, after the death of his wife, left the whole of his money to charitable purposes.

MISERY.

would look in the wrong place. Most people, if sent in search of misery, They hovels of poverty; but misery must be would pass by palaces and search at the estimated, not by the number of adverse accidents, but by the degree of morbid sensibility of the sufferer.

INCOMPATIBILITY.

There is, perhaps, no misfortune of life more truly bitter than being shut up, without any society to divert our chagrin, with one who daily excites our disgust by a total want of sympathy in every feeling of the heart.

THE EXILED QUEEN.

(For the Parterre).

ISABELLA of Poland, widow of John, king of Hungary, queen-mother, and regent of that kingdom, had been compelled to abdicate her power by the treason of Friar George, a bold and intriguing Croatian of a noble but decayed family, who had risen, from a servile office in the Monastery of St. Paul, by Buda, to be Archbishop of Strigonium and a Cardinal; but a twofold traitor to his queen and her infant son, who had been bequeathed to his tutelage, by the too confiding John in his last moments.

The regalia of Hungary, (consisting of a crown made of plates of gold, mounting on high in form of a high-crowned hat, enriched with stones and pearls, and having a cross of gold on the top; a sceptre of ivory garnished with gold; and a mantle of cloth of gold;) having been demanded at her hands, and by her surrendered, at the Diet of Colosvar, in an

adjacent monastery, Queen Isabella with her son, the young dethroned monarch, was compelled to depart for Cassovia ; and taking the most unfrequented and perilous roads, in order to avoid the Turkish territory, travelled in the meanest attire and with every token of extreme grief.

"Insomuch," saith the curious old chronicle from which I made this extract. "Insomuch that, one day, passing a mountain, which separateth Transylvania from Hungary, and going down the side thereof, which was very rough and tedious, by which ragged way her coach could not pass, she was constrained, during a great shower, to go on foot and down that side with her children and ladies, and that not without great labour.

"Walking in this sort, she greatly complained herself of her adverse fortune, who, not contenting to be contrarie and opposite to her, in great and weightie things, would yet afflict her in small and mean matters. She then took a knife and, with the point thereof, to

in the bark of a great tree,

"Sic Fata volunt !"

and underneath

"Isabella Regina."

It may be some satisfaction to the reader, to learn that the infamous Friar George of Croatia, was subsequently assassinated in his strongly fortified castle of 'Binse, on the steep banks of the Sebesse; by which event the queen-mother was enabled to reconquer all her towns and castles, and resume the government of Hungary in the name of her son.

The tempest and uproar, that distinguished the night in which the traitor Cardinal suffered the retribution of his enormous crimes, is thus told in the same chronicle.

"Now the night was come, which was very cloudy and dark; during which the elements would demonstrate some sign of the friar's death.

"For, in that night the winds were so horrible and the tempest and raines so strange, that in man's memory the like was never seen. Nothing was heard but unaccustomed sounds in the air, and clapping of doors and windows through all the castle, and that so terrifying as though the world would presently have ended.

"In short, as well in the air, as in the vallies, this supernatural tempest made such rude havoc, as though all the furies in hell had been there unchained."

H. G.

AN ODD CHARACTER.

On our way from Dresden, we stopped at Potsdam. I was agreeably surprised, by finding myself in the library of Frederick the Great, which is contained in the new palace. All the reminiscences of this great man are, of course, interest ing. Frederick was certainly a great man, but really I think his father infinitely more of an original. A more outrè animal, I shrewdly suspect, never sat on a throne. He seems to have been a modern Tiberius in miniature-a sort of half-tamed Commodus. not see a human bear in this paragraph extracted from a letter written home on the eve of a battle?

Can you

"I give you all, (beginning with my wife), my malediction; and may God punish you, as well temporally as eternally, if you do not bury me, after my death, in the chapel of the palace at Potsdam."

You know, Frederick the Great was

latter was fourteen, his brutal father commenced ill-treating him. He beat him, kicked him, insulted him, and strove once or twice to strangle him. The same usage was adopted towards his wife and daughter. He was accustomed to beat the latter particularly, and once endeavoured to throw her out of the window. His table was so meagrely served that the royal family were almost famished; yet, the good king, fearful that they should eat more meat than he had helped them to, after he had distributed what he deemed sufficient, used to spit in the dish. When either of his children came near him, he would aim a great blow at their heads, with his crutch, in order to knock them down. Among his occupations were painting. His grenadiers were obliged to sit as models; and, when his portrait had more colour in it than the original, he rouged the cheeks of the soldier to correspond. When, as often happened, he fell asleep over his task, and the falling brush would trail along, and disfigure the canvass; on awaking, he would swear that the painter, whom he kept in the room with him to mix his colours, had spoiled his picture from jealousy of his talents, and the unhappy artist had to suffer a thorough caning thereupon, with what patience he could. When his judges gave decisions which he did not like, he would rush into the court-room, and cane, cuff, and kick the offending dispensers of justice off the bench. The young Frederick, unable any longer to endure his tyranny, endeavoured to make his escape, but was watched, and arrested in the act, by the old savage, who did every thing in his power to have him shot for desertion. Unable to accomplish this, he wreaked his vengeance on him in a way brutal beyond credulity. He confined him in a dungeon, where he lay for a long time deprived of all the necessaries of life, and expecting every moment to be conducted to the scaffold. Katt, the companion of young Frederick's flight, and greatly beloved by the prince, was also acquitted by the court-martial; but the wretch, Frederick-William, instantly reversed the verdict, condemned Katt to be beheaded, and commanded the execution to take place in the presence of the prince. History rarely delineates a scene more powerfully striking and dramatic than that which closed Katt's career. was only two-and-twenty, and the most tender affection subsisted between the

He