necessary ease to the production of a good translation. The tale is one of thrilling interest, that none knew so well how to weave as our author, Tomaso Grossi. The characters are varied, energetic, and beautiful: Bice, the heroine, is introduced to the reader at the age of "sweet sixteen;" she is fair, beautiful, and reserved, and never perhaps was a more interesting character woven amid the fiction of an historical romance. To describe the various characters introduced would be tiresome and fatiguing to the reader, and unnecessary, as the author has, with his peculiar tact, in every scene contrived that the personages acting in it converse naturally, and to use a common expression, "speak their minds." The work abounds with the most striking positions, and is full of dramatic effect. The description of the drowning of Arrigozzo, the boatman's son, is energetic, powerful, and pathetic in the extreme; the tender solicitude of the parent, when the rough treatment of the waves had almost forbidden him to grasp the corpse of his son, when having seized it by the hair, he places his hand beneath the chin and supports him towards the rock, is a touch bright from the picture of nature, full of truth and beauty; as is also that of the curate, when instead of addressing the bereaved father, railing at heaven for his loss, he leans over and communes as it were with the dead body, and by it pacifies and draws forth the better feelings of the parent.

"At this moment the discourse was broken off by a sudden clap of thunder. A minute after they heard the voice of the helmsman shouting, 'The storm is upon us! Out with all oars!' A rocking was caused by the sudden movement of Lupo and Ambrogio to obey this order; then a short silence followed, so that they could hear on the right, from a distance, the roaring of the lake, which grew louder every moment. The Curate opened a window and looked out; from Menagio a heavy storm was approaching, and already the first waves of a violent tempest were seen coming forward, with crests foaming and erect. The Count showed himself at the door, near the stern, and called out, 'Michele! why not go to shore when the bad weather came on, instead of driving us among these cursed breakers where there is no anchorage?'

came,

"But if it has not come over just as if the devil had brought it!' answered the boatman. On, my men!' he called out immediately: 'pull away bravely; the strokes closer, all together, like brave men.' Those whom he exhorted leaned back, all at once, threw their whole weight on their oars, bent themselves, extended themselves with their strong shoulders, and the waves seemed to give way under their powerful efforts. But a sudden gust of wind and the first breakers began to dash over the bark, which pitched, twisted about, now turning prow, now stern, reeled back, and lost in a moment a long space which they had made with so much fatigue. Those gallant rowers, however, strove to make way again; and by bold quick strokes they always gained some advantage, and seemed by little and little to be nearing the point of Varenna. Already they were beside it, and were just going to make the point, when a furious gale of wind took the boat on the stern, whirling her round; at the same time they heard the crash of timber going to pieces,

and a voice pronouncing these fearful words' The helm is gone!'

upon us!

"Ah, poor wretches that we are! We are lost! Here, you dog, tie up that awning! Holy Virgin! Put an oar for the rudder! Hold! Draw! Stay it up! Quick, ye knaves, quick! Lord have mercy you! Help! help!' They crowded, pushed, imDown with the oar, or the devil take peded one another on all sides; but amid the roar of the waves, the howling of the wind, and terrible crashing of the thunder, which echoed through the rocks and caves of the dreaded mountain, those cries and that clamour were lost.

"The Curate lifted up his hands to bless the weather; he gave to all the absolution, in articulo mortis; then he fell upon his knees in a corner, and, hiding his face in his hands, he prayed for all their souls. During this time the Count, with staring eyes and open mouth, could only look at his daughter, who had thrown herself into his arms, and say, Lord, help me! Lord, help me!'

"But Ottorino, rushing out of the little cabin, to offer what assistance he could, saw how the vessel, now turning round upon herself, now thrown fearfully on her side, ran towards certain destruction against the rocks of Morcate, while the rowers, all pulling backwards, were straining every nerve to avoid the first prominent rocks. At the very moment when Ottorino came up, Arrigozzo abandoned resistance, because the wave against which he pulled the whole of his weight upon his oar, and meeting no had passed under, he fell at once into the lake, having missed his support. For a moment he struggled among the breakers, but the boat passed above him and turned him over; he was struck violently on his head by the bottom of the boat, and he rose no more.

"All oars towards the mountain!' cried the helmsman for the last time; his view being intercepted by the cabin, he had not perceived the loss of his son. Some accents of prayer, mingled with oaths, could still be heard; but all was soon lost in a general indiscriminate shriek, when the boat, tossed upon the waves, was dashed on an enormous rock, and fell to pieces.

"The young Knight did not lose his presence of mind at that moment of destruction; perceiving a large fragment of rock, he contrived to spring upon it, dragging after him the chain of the boat; but the waves, thrown back by the mountain, swept away the vessel, and would have carried off the young Knight also, had he not clung firmly to the rock on which he had fixed himself. Another breaker came, and the boat was thrown again upon the rock. This time Ottorino was dexterous enough to keep her to shore. Lupo, the falconer, and the other boatman, who stood at the prow, and were prepared, jumped out in an instant, and, all together, they were fortunate enough to twist the chain round a wild fig-tree, which grew out of a crevice in the rock. Secured in this way to the rock, her point standing high out of the water, the vessel, like a bull caught in a lasso, kept on tossing about and changing sides; her poop was pushed now on this side, now on that, at the mercy of the waves, which would not let her rest, though they could no longer detach her from her mooring.

"Ottorino, and the others who had escaped, after placing the Count del Balzo and his daughter in safety, dispersed in trouble and perplexity over the vast uneven mass, to look if the shipwrecked man was anywhere to be seen. His father alone, who had been the last to leave the boat, in all the confusion and disorder, was not yet aware that his son was

wanting; seating himself at the foot of the rock, with the stump of an oar on his knees, he began to look for him among the others, but without any anxiety, feeling certain that no one had been lost. "However, the Count, having recovered from his first alarm, and feeling angry at the risk he had run, began to blame the helmsman and Arrigozzo; indeed, he too was far from suspecting what had happened. Michele heard the reproaches cast upon himself, with his head hung down, and all the air of a man who feels he has done wrong; but when he heard blame cast on Arrigozzo, touched to the quick, he could no longer contain himself, and he was about to reply. Happening to turn his face towards the lake, he caught a glimpse of something under water, that seemed to be entangled among the fragments of a rock at a short distance, which was covered by the He fixed his eyes intently upon this object, which appeared under various forms; he distinguished the end of a brown mantle at last; he saw a hand, which now rose out of the water, now fell back, tossed by the waves.

waves.

"The poor father was ready to fall down dead; but he grasped the broken oar which was before him, jumped up, and called in a faltering voice, Arrigozzo! Arrigozzo!' This was but for a moment. Receiving no answer, he ran to the top of the rock, looked all round, ran his eye over all who were safe, one by one, but could not find his son among them. Then seeing the Count, who had so lately been finding fault with his son's name, he roared out, Dog, are you here!' and brandishing the broken oar, he rushed forward to strike him on the head. Bice uttered a cry; Ottorino was quick in warding off the | blow; in a minute, Lupo, the Falconer, and the boatmen disarmed the frantic man, who, striking his forehead with both hands, gave a spring, and threw

himself into the lake.

"He was seen fighting with the angry waves, overcoming them with a strength and a courage, which desperation alone can give. He reached the body, he placed his hands upon it; feeling in the water, he seized it by the hair, but touched immediately with tender paternal compunction, as if this action was too rough a treatment for that loved corpse, he placed his left hand instead under the chin, to support the head, and with the right hand he began to buffet the waves, returning to the rock. The boatmen got into the vessel, now almost under water, and from thence

threw out the chords of the sail to the old man, so

that holding by them he was able to get back in safety, together with his mournful, though precious burden.

"Laying down the body of his son upon the rock, he took the head upon his knees, and bending over it he began to feel the chest, and ascertain if the heart still beat: he pressed his chest to that of his son, his cheek to his son's cheek, kissing his eyes, his mouth, his whole face, breathing on him, as if to re

vive the spirit of life. A rudden breeze then shook the arm of the corpse, which hung down, and made it move. At that motion the unhappy father started with hope; his cheeks were coloured for a moment; his features appeared to brighten, a sudden light sparkled in his eyes, which were fixed upon that cherished face; but perceiving his error, he buried his hands in his hair, and afterwards stretching his clenched fists towards the lake, he cried out, Cursed wind! cursed waves! Cursed be this carcase of a boat, and the moment when I set foot in her! Oh, may all things go to ruin!'

"All stood round, looking at him in terror. No one ventured a word of consolation: but the Pastor,

having left him to his grief for a time, drew near, and instead of addressing his discourse to Michele himself, he placed his hand on the head of his son, whom the father held between his knees, saying with deep emotion, My poor Arrigozzo! you were always a good son, fearing God, and loving your parents.'

"It is true, it is true," replied the father, quite affected by the praises given to his beloved one; 'I did not deserve so good a son !'

"In these days, when our faith is in so much danger,' continued the Curate, 'you know not, my poor Michele, nor do I know, but that it was from the Lord's mercy he called him away, while he yet belonged to him! Come, resign him to Him who gave, and who has taken him back, for reasons we cannot tell, but which are certainly those of his justice and mercy towards his elect.'

666

Alas! but what shall I do in the world without him?' exclaimed the boatman. What shall I say to my poor Marta when I go home, and she says to me, Where is our son ?'

"The Lord will not abandon you,' insisted the good Priest, gently: 'He who sends the affliction will supply the strength to bear it.'

"Michele raised his eyes to heaven, and after a moment began to exclaim again, 'Why am I not dead?.... why leave me here, leave me, a useless and worn old man, and take him away in the flower of his age?.... Our only hope, our prop, our consolation!....' But he could get no farther.

"After tears had relieved his heart a little, be turned to the Curate, saying, 'Oh! what a son I have lost, what a son! He loved me so! He was so docile ! A son of so much judgment and reason, as had not his equal in all Limonta; and many times his poor mother has told me, that old as I am, I might have taken a lesson from him.'

Meanwhile the rest who had escaped were de liberating how they could get away from that ex. posed point before nightfall."

The discovery of Bice in the prison of the castle, her meeting with her mother and the Count Ottorino, are very beautiful in their effect and general composition; but our extracts are already exceeding our limits.

The illustrations are from the pencils of Mr. H. Warren and T. Armstrong, and engraved on wood in a style very far beyond the wretched productions usually allotted to illustrated works.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS; by Elizabeth Piddocke Roberts. (Darton and Clarke.)-A vo lume of pleasing effusions which, though they do not display striking originality, make the faithful mirror of a high and generous, yet gentle and feminine mind. The following lines may show the author's power of associating the poetical with the apparently prosaic and common-place :

Well can ye conjure days of yore,
When bravely sped the broad claymore;
And high the plume-crowned bonnet rose
On Scotland's Chiefs, o'er Scotland's foes.
"My Highland Brooch! I love ye well!
And dearly love the tales ye tell

Of Scotland's far-famed deeds of old;
Of Wallace dear, of Bruce the bold,
What time his tartan screen was torn
By the rude victor-chief of Lorn.
'Twas dark Macdougall's boast to find
That royal relic of thy kind:

Which once had clasped in massive pride,
The plaid which graced the Bruce's side,
And since in vaunted splendour worn,
By each succeeding Lord of Lorn.

"My Highland Brooch! the themes ye bring To my wild heart's imagining,

But make its willing faith yet more
The slave to Scotia's mountain shore-

Her clear, calm lochs, and burnies' sheen-
Her pine-crowned hills and glens between-
Her waters, as they gush along,
Tinged by the light of olden song.
And then each free and gallant heart,
That form old Scotland's higher part-
Dear shall such themes for ever be
Dear as thy giver's memory.

"My siller Brooch! ye're far more dear
Than costly gems or golden gear.
Pearls, with their light and liquid grace,
With high-born beauty hold their place,
And diamonds, from a station high,
Contest the palm with woman's eye;
While rubies rare, and emeralds sheen,
In proud and stately ranks are seen :
Yet still be't thine an aid to lend,
My ready toilette to befriend;
And ever be't thy useful part,
To clasp the tartan o'er my heart."

AMUSEMENTS

During the past month the performances at HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE have been anything but novel, though for quality as fine, or even better than usual. The old operas have undergone a series of representations to crowded audiences, to whom novelty seems as a pigmy, compared to the relish they shew for that giant attainment in every art-perfection. Il Barbiere di Siviglia, Anna Bolena, Il Giuramento, and Otello, have each of them obtained, if not their due, at least their wonted meed of applause. Madame Rossi Caccia, in her performance of Norma, obtained a signal triumph; the greater as her talents were suddenly called into requisition from the indisposition of Madame Grisi, and against whose well earned popularity in that character she had to contend. Her conception of the part was vivid, masterly, and effective in the extreme; nor did she give her hearers the slightest cause for disappointment, as several encores fully evinced, not to mention a thrice-repeated call before the curtain. A variety of benefits have rapidly succeeded each other, of which that of Fornasari may be particularly mentioned, from the full display in Rossini's beautiful opera, La Gazza Ladra, of the talents of this, the most powerful operatic company in the world. In the repetition of Mercandante's opera seria, Il Giuramento, the beautiful duo, "Dolce conforto al misero," performed by Grisi and Brambilla, in the tenth scene, was perhaps the purest combination and blending of two human voices ever heard. In the choregraphic department, the novelty has been as great as it has been deficient in the operatical entertainments. The delightful Taglioni has surprised even her most enthusiastic admirers, in the execution of the toute ensemble of her various and exquisite characters. Her benefit, which took place in the earlier part of month, was, literally, one blaze of beauty in each

department; but most especially in that where her own talents were brought into such powerful exertion. On that occasion she performed in no less than eight different ballets. Cerito and Lucile Grahn have each attracted a crowd of enthusiastic admirers on the evenings of their benefits.

As this is the last opportunity we shall have, during the present season, of glancing at the performances at this theatre, it were not out of place, should we make some few observations on the season just concluded. Mr. Lumley did not, as was the fashion of his predecessors, force only old productions on the public, during the earlier and less fashionable months for the representations; on the contrary, with a liberality unprecedented, and fully appreciated by the frequenters of Her Majesty's theatre, he continued supplying beauties in composition and novelty, with as unsparing a hand as in the zenith of the season. The consequences were crowded houses, delighted audiences, and sans doute an overflowing exchequer. Of the company little can be said-yet that little expresses in it all that the most ambitious of the favoured candidates can desire-it has been unrivalled. Never before has so varied and powerful a company performed to an English audience, and never have the houses presented so crowded and unvarying an appearance. The season, altogether, has been one of unbounded gratification, novelty, and delight.

THE HAYMARKET.

The two larger-nay all the larger-houses being closed, we turn to the "little theatre in the Haymarket," where the amusements have been kept up with unabated energy and success. We had half expected to have seen thin houses, after the unfortunate misunderstanding between Mr. Webster and Mr. and Mrs. Mathews (with