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nor quill behind the ear. His compositions, with their inimitable freshness and simplicity, are like those of a child in the maturity of intellect; his heart, with its young and unchilled affection, seems to have remained stationary, while his more prudent head was growing riper every day in human nature's cunning.

I am sorry that he has confined his humour so closely to British ground-to London and its suburbs; though it, doubtless, for that very reason, comes doubly-seasoned to the palate of an English denizen.

His humour, we see at a glance, is English humour, without the alloy of a single scrap of foreign metal; the rich wine, with its fine smacking flavour, we can easily perceive, has never been out of the owner's cellar. Lamb's power lies, most clearly, in catching the fainter flashes of humour, which break out every day, and, perhaps, in every conversation, without exciting the most passing notice or the slightest smile; such traits he seizes-presents in strong, well-coloured relief and the sensitive, responding reader splits with honest laughter.

Suppose not, however, it is a farce you are at when reading one of Elia's essays-O no-they are polished, perfect comedies, (unlike comedies, too!) in which cheerfulness-the sweetest temper of heart-and the most delightful organization of mind are mingled. Lamb's whims are never superficial, never merely sparkling, but always drawn from the depths of the feelings; he knows well that the genuine region of pathos and wit is not sunk in quite so shallow water as the world benevolently imagines.

SAN ZENOBIO;

C. M.

OR, A SUMMER IN FLORENCE.

BY THEODORE S. FAY.

THE day breaks without a cloud. The sky lies above like a vast amethyst, with no other variation but from different shades of light as the dreadful sun mounts up the east. The tower of Fiesole-the convent church and fortress of San Mimato-the picturesque old villas of Michaellozzi and Abizzi on the hill of Bellesguardi, and the convent on Mount Olivet, are printed against the translucent and unstained blue, with a definite boldness which the eye loves, and is almost

startled with. The mountains in the distance, gradually mélting from green to azure, lie half-dissolved in silvery light, the burnished snow no longer gleaming from their skyish peaks. Everything in the air is intensely bright and still; and the old city, with its massive stone walls, castles and turrets-its strange towers its venerable domes-and all the forms and shapes that, from its surrounding amphitheatre of hills, make it a proverbial picture, lies shining in the long plain of the Val d'Arno-a striking mass of burnt roofs, on which a thousand summers have poured their liquid fires, till each one appears brittle and fire-worna sight in the yellow sunshine of Italy that stirs the heart of the painter, and kindles the soul of the student.

IN these fervid climes the heat is excessive almost beyond credit. The earth does not seem made for man or beast, unless for the lizard that clings to the wall, or the serpent that lies sleeping on the rock. The sweet sunshine, the idol of the poet's praise, and the painter's imitation, whose beams cheer the prisoner's cell, and light with a transitory joy the gloomy chamber of the dying-the emblem of hope and happiness to man— the source of beauty and wealth to the earth-from the friend of mortals has become a tremendous foe. They fly from his scorching beams, and nature lies halfdead beneath his fierce embrace.

THESE old European towns, are, after all, noble shelters. Their high walls of houses-their broad, overhanging eaves, their narrow streets-so narrow, some of them, that carriages can only pass each other at certain parts, and winding in serpentine sweeps, or striking off into long angles-you have shade at all hours. Then, everything is of stone; and the enormous court-yards, as you pass them, give their cool breath upon you almost to chilliness-and the dark, immense cathedrals, all refreshing, shadow, silence. In some places your way is overhung by the second story of a house which projects far over, and in others you pass under a long arch-way-completely covered and narrow, where the dog lies panting in the shade, and the beggar sleeps upon a stone and the peasants and shopkeepers crowd together, all burnt with the fierce touches of the fiery sun-all dripping from the bronzed foreheadand many half naked.

There are some parts of Florence where no one must venture, except those

who, from long exposure and natural hardihood, possess the incombustible principle of asbestos or a salamander. These exposures of the town, where the broad and intense orb all day pours his pitiless floods of heat and light perpendicularly, are terrible and dangerous the heavy, flat pavements-the mighty, thick stone-walls here, become heated the breeze blows like the air from the door of a furnace-the bridges seem ready to crack and burst asunder-the almost naked channel of the Arno, glares with its white reflections till the eyes ache to look at it, and the brook of water that runs through its centre, appears boiling like a hot lake. In the lower part of the city it is broadened by artificial means, and stands apparently stagnantits surface cast into the glassy stillness of a mirror, and the sand and white stones, or the black mud, which vary its shallow bottom, visible to the gaze of such as dare venture out to look, The trees, oranges, and chance verdure which often hang from the walls, or appear through the garden arches of the great, hang drooping, dusty and dying; and the bunches of flowers, by the daily retail of which many obtain a livelihood, lie neglected about, mere cinders that turn to dust beneath the tread. The floors and windows of the buildings in these situations are closed with blinds or canvass, and before the post-office, a broad, green awning hangs from the high window-top to the very ground. Even in the most shadowy streets the air is now frightfully rarefied the languid population shrink back into their dark abodes-gasp for breath, and pant for the hour of sunset.

At length his expanding disc descends towards the mountains; a soft transparency-a pearly lustre overspreads the heavens a few orange and emerald tinges play about the heated horizon, and a stream of golden radiance glows along the Lung 'Arno, brightening the rugged stone structures, touching the tops of the domes and towers, painting the river with unnatural beauty, gleaming through the arches of the bridges which hang inverted in its bosom, and casting over the scene a gentle, gorgeous and picture light, like the illuminations of Claude. Now the dripping and exhausted captives crowd forth from their dens. Doors are thrown open, curtains are drawn aside. The faces, which have been watching from the grated windows of the lower story, appear in the street; groups cover the open walks where the width permits. Men, women, and chil

dren fill the cafés, and carriages throng the doors for lemonade and ices. Now, too, the equipages of the nobles commence to roll toward the Cascine, and crowds of pedestrians steal forth to breathe the grateful coolness of evening-grateful, but dangerous; and sometimes at midnight, the narrow Piazza del Duomo is crowded with panting groups, peasant and noble gasping for air. This is Florence in the summer.

We have had no rain for a month. Vegetation is consuming beneath the torrid glare. Some talk of an approaching earthquake. Some assert that a shock has already been felt. Others predict a famine.

IN one of the principal squares stands a column dedicated to San Zenobio. When the bones of that saint were on their way to interment, they were accidentally brought in contact with a dead tree which stood on this spot. No sooner had the sacred relics touched the sapless trunk, than lo! a miracle; the withered branches sprouted with tender leaves, and the tree long after flourished in the face of the whole town, a memorable evidence of the fact. When at length it reached the close of its career, this monument was erected to perpetuate the memory of the event; it is now carefully guarded, and has been recently repaired by his imperial and royal highness, the present grand duke. The head of the saint is preserved in the adjoining Duomo, as an instrument even to the present day by which the bishop can procure the direct interposition of Heaven for the accomplishment of his wishes. The long drought moved the holy father one day to call, in the name of this precious relic, for relief. It was accordingly exposed in form in a silver case, and the divine mediation conjured. The next day the overburdened clouds poured forth plenteous tributes upon the thirsty earth. The people joined in the chorus which hailed the new miracle, and the grand duke proceeded in state to the cathedral, to offer up thanks for the prompt and flattering punctuality with which his wishes had been attended to.

A NIGHT ADVENTURE.

Fit pugil, et medicum urget.-HOR.
SIR,

I will not preface the detail which I am about to transmit to you by any long introduction. It is sufficient to inform

you, that I am one of those who are afflicted by a romantic imagination, which, however it may inspire or enchant us in our moments of poetical inspiration, is, as we all know, troublesome beyond measure, in the ordinary affairs of life. The circumstances which I am going to relate, are an exemplification of this trite, but true observation.

It was on a beautiful autumn evening that I stole out unperceived, from a party engaged in discussing the merits of some of my father's oldest claret, and left him eloquently and feelingly declaiming in its praise, to take a solitary ramble through the extent of grounds that had so often witnessed my infant gambols, or seen me, at a more advanced age, performing the voyages of Æneas, by means of a horse-pond and washing-tub;-or, imitating my favourite Hector, in the destruction of the Grecian navy, to the imminent peril of Farmer Ashfield's neighbouring hay-rick. It was an evening, to delineate whose beauteous grandeur would require a heart teeming with all the inspiration of the Muses-a pen dipped in the brightest colours of imagination. A soft mellow silence pervaded the whole expanse of air and earth; the sun, just sinking beneath the horizon, still retained influence sufficient to leave a bright tinge of red upon the western sky, and to deepen the verdure of the aged oaks, which, wreathing their huge gigantic branches into a thousand fantastic forms, overshadowed my path, and scarcely deigned to wave beneath the passing zephyr, that agitated their foliage for a moment, and, in the next, left all as still and solemnly silent as the grave. It was such an evening as would be peculiarly fitted to conjure up all the fantasies of a warm imagination; which might easily have pictured to itself Queen Mab, and her fairy attendants, skipping nimbly over the herbage, or holding their sportive gambols far from the sight of intruding mortals, beneath the shade of some favourite beech. "On such a night as this," I wandered unconsciously along, forgetful almost of my own existence, totally absorbed in contemplation, and forming, in idea, the most unearthly and romantic images. Long had I thus roamed, indifferent to everything around me, and in a kind of delicious forgetfulness of the world, and its unpleasant ac⚫ companiments. Already had the dark ness of night succeeded to the shades of evening; but so gradually had its sombre light given way to the gentle brightness of the moon, that I was far from perceive

ing the change, and still pursued my way, unconscious of the dews that began to fall around me, till a sudden cloud, obscuring the rays of the bright luminary above, and a sharp air, that died away in threatening forebodings through the grove below, recalled my scattered senses, and arousing me to the knowledge of myself, and my situation, brought to my recollection the deserted party, and the supposition that, in all probability, the family would be alarmed at my absence. I was next reminded of a still more unpleasant circumstance; that, having no small distance to return, I should, in all probability, be caught in the storm which I now, for the first time, perceived had been accumulating all its horrors from every point of the heavens, and was just ready to burst forth with terrifying violence. As all this passed in quick revolution through my brain, I had already turned my face homewards, and with buttoned-up coat, was on the point of starting forward with as great rapidity as the increasing darkness and devious path would admit, when my purpose was suddenly checked by the rain, of which I had been but so lately forewarned. It fell in torrents, so violent, that to proceed was impossible. I took refuge under a spreading tree, and had much ado to console myself with the reflection, that I had met with an "Adventure."

"An Adventure," sir, it certainly was; a most lamentable one. I had not remained a minute in my uncomfortable situation, before I perceived two figures, of the most mysterious appearance, sheltering themselves from the storm, beneath the next tree. They were muffled up closely in thick cloaks, wore large slouch ed hats, and carried in their hands most villanous sticks. What could I suppose? What conclusion could I form, but that which all your readers, sir, would form, under similar circumstances? I was within a few yards of a brace of highwaymen !

What could I do? Escape was impossible! the least noise was death to me! Silently and anxiously I listened to the conversation of my foes; and my terror was not abated when I overheard these dark and terrible expressions :

"Upon the word of a gentleman!" said the first, "I have not touched a single guinea since I came into this part of the country!" "Business is, in truth, very dull !" said the other; "I have practised here for twenty years, and never was there a time when people have been so

shy of putting themselves in my hands as they are at present!" No wonder! thought I. "I am afraid," resumed the first, "there is a strong prejudice gone abroad against our profession!" Prejudice! thought I. "You are right," replied the other; "not one blockhead can die within ten miles round, but a hundred other blockheads cry out, that I killed him!" My blood ran cold; but at this moment the violence of the tempest increased, and, for some minutes, I heard no more of the discussion.

By degrees, the tumult of the elements abated, and I again caught a few words. "Your system, brother, is too violent; I have always employed milder methods." (Blessings on you, thought I). "I disapprove of your indiscriminate use of steel, in all cases." "Steel, sir," cried the other, "steel!-Nothing is to be done, in our way, without steel." They began to move towards me!

I felt my brow grow clammy-my hair stand on end-my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. They approached nearer!-nearer! Despair gave me courage. I seized a large branch, which had been rent from its parent tree by the wind, and dashed it, with all the fury of hopelessness,

"Full on the footpad's forehead! down he sank, without a groan expiring."

I heard my name vociferated as I fled, but I staid not for this. With inconceivable rapidity I fled from the place of combat, and after traversing a space of many miles, perceived, to my great satisfaction, that I was not pursued. I was endeavouring, though without much chance of accomplishing this desirable object, to discover the road I ought to take, when my ear was suddenly startled by a sound, which very much resembled a groan. At first, I treated it as a fanciful sound, though I confess my eyes were turned, with not the most comfortable feelings, upon the rugged branches, and broken stumps, that might have, to a terrified mind, borne the appearance of Satan and his sable attendants. A second, more loudly repeated, convinced me of its reality, and immediately looking in the direction whence it seemed to proceed, I espied something white lying upon an open tuft of grass; but I was, un fortunately, short-sighted, and this, added to the natural darkness, rendered me incapable of distinguishing the nature of the mysterious appearance. A third, and deeper groan, vibrated on my ear; imagination immediately resumed its sway, and concluding it to be a woman, and

fancying I could distinguish her garments, "Alas, unhappy one!" thought I to myself, "thou wast once, perhaps, lovely, in the bloom of youth, and surrounded by all the blessings of peace and innocence; but now, by the arts of some infamous seducer, art become a fugitive vagabond, cast upon the wide world, houseless and helpless, with no one to pity, no one to succour thee! Yes, by heaven! there is one," I exclaimed, rushing forward with the most fervent feelings of humanity and pity: "there is one shall help thee, poor victim, and shelter thee from the furious storm. There is one," I continued, with all the ardour of a mind inspired with the most generous benevolence, "that shall recruit thy weary limbs, and, if possible, restore thee to happiness;" and, approaching still closer, I bent down, and was preparing to modulate my voice in the softest accents of pity, when up it started, Mr. Editor, not in the shape of either a Chloe or Lucinda, but in that of one of my father's favourite Dorsetshire sheep, which, while enjoying the slumbers I had disturbed, uttered those hard breathings which, to my ear, sounded as groans. "Curse humanity!" I exclaimed, as the animal retreated with frightened rapidity, through an opening in the trees. "Curse humanity," I exclaimed, as I hurried back on my way, in no very placid temper, and in the next instant found myself at the bottom of a ditch, the existence of which I had entirely forgotten. Luckily, it was a dry one, but, unluckily, of such a depth, and defended by such steep banks, that, notwithstanding I received no injury by the fall, I was soon aware that the retreat would be a labour of much greater difficulty than the entrance had been; and, to add to my troubles, the long-expected rain began to fall in torrents. Thrice I attempted the steep ascent, and thrice, with nails begrimed with dirt, and muddy knees, met with a repulse. labours might have continued much longer, had not a large Newfoundland dog, accompanied by the butler, sent to search for me, smelt out my retreat. With the joint assistance of Hector and John, I was soon rescued, and in a short time found myself at the hall-door, surrounded by all the servants, who had been on the look-out, and who, while listening to John's account, passed not a few jokes on young gentlemen studying the stars in a ditch. Heedless of these, and their stifled laughter, and having relieved my father's fears, I had the gra

My

titude to recall my oath, and thank Humanity for my safe return; and when I found myself established by the blaze of a good fire to dry my moistened garments, "Bless Humanity!" I exclaimed, "for had she not directed Hector, I might still be exposed to yon rumbling thunder, and all the fury of the tempest, with a ditch for my bed, and in no better plight than—the unfortunate vic-. tim of seduction." This suggested an instructive thought: "Pshaw!" I cried, "that must be forgotten till the next meeting of the King of Clubs, and then, perhaps, I may be inclined, though at my own expense, to furnish ample food for laughter to the members, by sending an account of my adventure. Sterling will deliver a lecture on star-gazing, and Musgrave descant upon the propriety of having lamps to a night-coach. Peregrine, perhaps, will dish it up as a pretty morsel of a tale in The Etonian.' It will be a warning to all warm and poetical imaginations, not to stray too far, allured by the beauties of an autumn evening, until, after mistaking a Dorsetshire wether for a frail one repenting of a faux pas, they shall slip, by a faux pas, into a ditch, after the manner of

THEODORE AVELING."

P. S. I forgot to mention, that the apothecary's lad brought a complaint the next morning against Master Theodore, for "breaking Mr. Gargle's head, in the storm, last night."

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CHAPTER VI. Irun.-The Convent of Capuchins.-Return to Bayoune. As I said at the close of the last chapter, I flattered myself with the hope of a good night's rest, of which I stood much in need. But alas! I had reckoned without my host, or rather, without my guests. I had not been five minutes in bed, before I heard beneath a great tingling of bells, with the agreeable accompaniment of a carter swearing at his horses. It was however, neither a carter nor horses, but in truth a Spanish muleteer, just arrived with his three mules, on the way to Bayonne with merchandise. Now my room was situated precisely over the stable, and the flooring being extremely thin, the result was, that I

heard all the transactions going on there, neither more nor less than if I had been sleeping by the side of the detestable beasts.

It seemed as if they were under a vow to enrage me, for they never ceased shaking their bells all the night through, and if silence were established for a few seconds, it was speedily interrupted again by a redoubled hurly burly. I could not comprehend why the muleteer had not released them from their noisy trappings; it was perhaps, from a little idleness, to be sooner ready the next morning; at least if it were not a conspiracy against my repose. In addition, chanticleer at roost in a corner of the stable, apostrophised them continually. It is the custom of the muleteers to be always in conversation with their beasts, sometimes quarrelling with them, and then talking fondly to them.

One of these mules must have been called Carita, as this name came up incessantly; and as often as Carita amused herself with kicking her companions, or biting them in contention for a mouthful of hay, endless remonstrances ensued, accompanied by oaths, Spanish or Basque, enough to pull the house down. Afterwards I heard the muleteer soften his tone, and address them in some such epithets as these: "There now, my dear, I have grumbled at thee a little roughly certainly I was wrong; but thou wast far from being tractable: so now, be pretty behaved, and we will be good friends."

Towards five in the morning, the noise suddenly increased. For several minutes I heard a great confusion, then all relapsed into silence. My man had departed with his animals. I hoped, at least, now to be able to repose for an hour or too, but I had scarcely fallen asleep, when I was aroused by rain violently dashing against the window panes. "I must arise," said I, "it is written that I shall not slumber here; I must come to a resolution." I rose up in anger, and greatly disappointed on account of the rain, that apparently augured unfavourably for my excursion to the other side of the Bidassoa. at the expiration of half an hour, the sky completely cleared; the sun shone out more radiant than ever, and my only fear was now, lest the day should prove too hot; a fear that was, indeed, amply realised.

But

I had ordered my guide to come for me at seven o'clock. He was exact to the appointment. When we had reached

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