death had been on her already. The most cruel forebodings tortured him by day and by night; his dreams represented her as dying or dead, The dreaded news reached him-Laura was dead! An attack of the plague had carried her off in three days; she had died on the anniversary of that day on which they had first met. In all the bitterness of his grief, he recalled all that had passed at their last meeting: the melancholy solemnity of her adieu seemed to his memory as that of one on the confines of eternity; every kind word she had ever spoken, every kind look she had ever given, was dwelt on with passionate fondness; and the hope, the belief, that he had been dear to her was the only thing which could soothe. His dreams previously to her death appeared to his imagination mysteriously linked with that event: he has most touchingly described one of these visions, when he believed her pure spirit was permitted to visit and comfort him. His pathetic lamentations were heard throughout the world with the deepest sympathy, and wrung the heart of many a one who had in happier days shared "sweet counsel" with him."

The misfortunes of Torquato Tasso com. menced in his early childhood: he was but eleven years old when political events obliged his father to quit Naples, and seek refuge in Rome. It had been settled that Torquato should follow him. The banishment from home, and from a mother on whom he doated, were sad trials. Some lines of touching tenderness commemorate the parting, and shew how bitterly it was felt. They were never to meet again: in eighteen months after they parted she died. He was indeed a child that must have been regarded with the fondest tenderness and pride. To wonderful acquirements for his age, were added what can never be acquired-a feel

he estranged himself from the society of his former companions, and was no longer met with in the circles of which he had been the darling. At length he made an effort to conquer feelings that were too powerful to yield, and sought in foreign travel and the pursuit of literature to dissipate the inquietude which was consuming him; but still the image of Laura haunted him through all his wanderings, and inspired that poetry whose purity, fire, and tenderness, have been the admiration of the world. He returned to Avignon, but again fled from the presence which was so dear to him, and sought in the solitudes of Vaucluse, to regain the peace which he was never to find. Shut in from the whole world by the rocks and hills, he found that solitude was 66 no cure for love:" through that sweet valley, among its shades and by its fountains, he sung the praises of Laura. And thus years passed on. It was during this seclusion that he got Simon Memoni, a pupil of Giotti, to take Laura's likeness. So delighted was the artist with the beautiful subject that the same lovely face was recognized in several of his pictures of saints and angels. On the 24th of August, 1340, Petrarch received two letters, each with an offer of the laurel crown; one from the University of Paris, the other from the Roman Senate: he decided on accepting it from the latter. He valued the honour as the meed of his celebration of Laura; all selfish considerations were lost in the one desire that the lover of Laura should be renowned and distinguished. The feelings with which Laura must have heard of the honours paid to the one so long and so devotedly attached to her have not been described, but they may be conceived. Thirteen years had now passed since they had first seen each other. When Petrarch and Laura met, time and care had wrought their changes in both. Petrarch's locks were already sprinkleding heart, and poetical genius of the highest with grey, and the animation of his countenance was saddened by sorrow: the bloom of girlhood had passed from Laura, and the traces of melancholy which an unhappy lot had left were but too visible; but all the tenderness and sympathy of other days remained. The jealous disposition of M. de Sade prevented Petrarch's being received at his house, but they often met and conversed together; and Laura would sing for him those songs to which he had so often delighted to listen: there was a tender sympathy in this intercourse, soothing to both. Petrarch's allusion to their last meeting is very affecting: he found her, as he describes, in the midst of a circle of ladies; her whole air betokened dejection, and the sorrowful look with which she regarded him, and which seemed to him to say, "Who takes my faithful friend from me?" made an indelible impression on him-his heart sank within him; and they seemed to feel at that sad moment that they were to meet no more. In the following year the plague broke out: Petrarch, who was at Parma, heard that it had reached Avignon; he was haunted by the recollection of the last moments that he had passed with Laura; it seemed to him as if the hand of

order, which in all his wanderings, in all his trials, had magic influence to charm a world which had nothing but misfortune for him. His mother best knew how much his sensitive nature required the tranquillity of a home, and the sympathy and endearments of those who loved him. But his lot was to be cast among stran gers, and some among them proved implacable enemies. A life of stranger vicissitudes is scarcely to be met with: sometimes courted and caressed, the companion of princes; at other times wandering in almost extremity of want; inspired by a sacred love of liberty, yet condemned to long years of the saddest captivity, with charms and graces to win the love of the fairest and the best, yet destined to feel all the pangs of a hopeless passion! A being more to be admired and more to be pitied than Tasso surely never existed. He was but twenty, when he received the most flattering office of employment from Cardinal Luizi d'Este, brother to the Duke of Ferrara, who was anxious to secure the services of one possessed of such genius. Though a connexion with the d'Este family opened a brilliant prospect for a young man, yet the friends of Tasso, dreading for him the dangers of a

court, endeavoured to persuade him to decline, the proposal: but it was too flattering to be refased, and he hastened to Ferrara, in compliance with the Cardinal's wish, who received him with every mark of distinction, and on occasion of his being appointed legate to France, introduced him at the French court, where he was received in the most flattering manner by Charles the Ninth, who was a warm admirer of his poetry. At Ferrara, Tasso became acquainted with the sisters of the Duke, who, intellectual and accomplished, could appreciate the gifted poet. His hours passed delightfully in their society. He has described the effect of his first interview with these fascinating ladies, in a rhapsody given to Tirsi, the character meant to represent himself in his "Aminta," in which the terms of goddesses, sirens, nymphs, minstrels, and luminaries are liberally bestowed, and shew at least that the young poet was in-mainder of his life; but thoughts of his early toxicated with delight in their presence. On their parts they enthusiastically admired him and his poetry. But there was one among them eminently attractive, whom he soon loved with all the passionate earnestness of which his ardent feelings were susceptible. Many of Tasso's biographers say that she was not insensible to the varied graces of the youth: in truth, his personal advantages, his rare accomplishments, and, above all, the enthusiasm of genius, so captivating and so winning, made him a dangerous companion for the young princesses.

impelled by his passion for Leonora, he would return, notwithstanding all his resolutions to the contrary, and regardless of the suspicions and machinations of the Duke. His melancholy increased, and his imagination continually represented that plots and designs against him were in agitation: he became irritable, and one day, in a fit of excitement, drew his dagger on one of the attendants; but he was instantly disarmed, and was confined by order of the Duke within the precincts of the palace-he was, in fact, a prisoner; but on expressing the regret which he felt for the intemperate act, the restraint was removed, and the Duke affected to treat him with his former kindness: but Tasso's feelings were too quick to be deceived; he felt that he was the object of the Duke's dislike and displeasure. Unhappy and irresolute, he sometimes wished to retire to a convent for the re

home and happy days would often recur to his mind, and he longed to see his sister, the companion of his childhood, whom he had not met for years; and he resolved to leave Ferrara secretly, and find his way to her. His sister was a widow, living at Torrento with her two children. One evening in the summer, as she sat alone, having sent the children out to amuse themselves, a shepherd brought a letter, which he had been directed to put into her hand-it was from Tasso, and told that he was in the midst of enemies and dangers at Ferrara, and that unless she could devise some means to save him, his death was inevitable. She questioned the messenger: his recital confirmed the intelligence, and represented the misery to which her brother was reduced in such terms, that, overcome with anguish, the lady fainted away. When she revived, Tasso discovered himself, and in those moments of affectionate recognition, he told her that he would never leave her for a world of which he had had too much: but his resolves were of short duration : Ferrara and its attraction could not be withstood. It was on the occasion of one of his returns from his restless wandering that he saw Leonora: the surprise and delight of being again in her presence were so great, that he uttered an impassioned exclamation: this gave the Duke the pretext for consigning him to St. Anne's Asylum for lu

Leonora was the youngest of the three sisters, and just nineteen when she and Tasso met. The princesses interested the Duke of Ferrara in his favour, and he appointed him to a situation in which he was exempt from duty, that he might devote himself exclusively to poetry. There was a handsome salary annexed, and apartments in the ducal palace. An inmate under the same roof with Leonora, the predilection which the young people felt for each other could not but increase. Confessions and vows may have passed between them, or Leonora's heart may have kept its own secret: the delicacy of Tasso's affection is clearly proved by the mystery which rests on those passages of his life in which she was concerned; for while allusions expressed with infinite tenderness, found throughout his poetry, discover the state of his own feelings, there is not one word which can furnish a sug-natics. gestion relative to hers. He had ventured, in accordance with the custom of the times, to celebrate her praises in verse: this, or some other circumstance, awakened the suspicions of the Duke: the intercourse of Tasso with the princesses was abruptly put an end to, and they were not suffered to meet. The Duke, to put an end to any vague hopes which he might entertain, pressed Tasso to marry, and suitable matches were proposed and declined. He withdrew for some time to Rome; on his return he felt that he was incessantly watched, and his sensitive nature could ill brook the want of confidence which this betrayed, and he left Ferrara again and again, wandering, while absent, reckless and restless, from place to place; and then,

"None but a madman would dare to act so!" was repeated over again. So hardly was poor Tasso dealt with for having indulged a hopeless, and it may have been an unrequited passion. At that time, and for very long after, the insane were treated as if they were not human beings, and the receptacles for them were under no regulations but those of caprice and cruelty. Tasso gives a most appalling account of his sufferings to his friend Gonzaga: it ends with these affecting words :-"Above all, I am afflicted by solitude, my cruel and natural enemy, which even in my best state was sometimes so distressing, that often at the most unseasonable hours I have gone in search of company. Sure I am, that if she who so little has corresponded to my attachment, if she

saw me in such a condition and in such misery, she would have some compassion on me!"

Even this abode of wretchedness could not extinguish his poetic fire, and from his solitary cell poenis of surpassing beauty found their way to the world from which he was utterly shut out: they were read in every circle, and the genius of the author extolled; but his misfortunes found no helping hand for seven long years; at length, through the intervention of his friend Gonzaga, he was released. During his confinement Leonora had died: sorrow and sympathy may have had their share in bringing her to an untimely grave. Cruelty had done its part; the young and the beautiful sank beneath its weight, and the gifted mind had received a shock from which it never after thoroughly recovered. Tasso left Ferrara never to return: like the troubled spirit, he could find rest nowhere; but at length he took up his abode at Naples; his mother's property, which had long been unjustly withheld from him, was restored. The beauties of nature please when nothing else can, and they may not have been without their gentle influence on the stricken heart; but the haunts of childhood must have been mournfully contrasted with the dark scenes of after days. Tasso received an intimation from the Pope, that a decree had passed the senate, awarding the laurel

crown to " the greatest poet of the age;" "the honour," added the Pope, "is to the Laurel, and not to Tasso." Tasso accepted the honour with deep melancholy, and left Naples with a foreboding that he should see it no more. Though affliction had not extinguished a spark of poetic fire, it had not left a vestige of ainbition; those that would most have delighted in his fame, and taken pride in his triumph, were in their graves, and he longed to be with them. The most gorgeous preparations were in progress, not only in the palace and capital, but in every street through which the procession was to pass. Tasso, with a prophetic spirit, declared the preparations were vain. Affliction, and his long confinement, had anticipated the work of years-the infirmities and languor of old age had overtaken him before their time: he fell ill-medical aid was unavailing-he was apprised of the approach of his last moments: he received the intimation with perfect calmness-all earthly concerns were lost in heavenly contemplations, and the only crown to which he aspired was that unfading crown which awaits the blessed in heaven.

The crowds were still collecting-fresh flowers were gathered to weave into the garlands that were to deck his triumph; but ere they had faded away the Poet was dead! M. A.

THE CHILD'S CORNER.

THE LAME-FOOTED DOG. (From the German.)

BY MISS M. WATSON.

is."

well as you. Besides, who can count upon a ship at sea? we hear every day of their going to the bottom, and I never heard of any of the rich cargoes they bore being got up again; so that you must excuse me from running a chance of There lived in the city of Bagdad a pearl-throwing good money after bad,' as the saying merchant, who, in a very short period of time, had met with so many, and such serious losses, that his last and only hope of retrieving his affairs rested on a richly freighted vessel from India; but, though overdue, still she came not into the harbour, and the unfortunate merchant's prospects became daily more obscured. At length he resolved to apply to a diamond-dealer, who, if words were to be believed, he might consider a warm friend.

He went to him, accordingly, at an hour when he was sure to find him in his private countinghouse, and, candidly laying his state before him, requested the loan of such a sum as would keep up his credit in the eyes of the world, either till his vessel arrived, or that, by being obliged to give up all hope of her, he must dispose of his whole property. "In either case," said he, "there will be enough to pay you back this loan; and if my good ship comes into port, I shall hold my head as high as ever I did for an honest dealer and a wealthy man."

The so-called friend let him say all he had to tell, and then with cold manner and abrupt speech excused himself from meeting the request. "My own business," said he, "has❘ dwindled of late, and I have had my losses as

The poor pearl-merchant looked blank, and painfully remembered that on more than one occasion he had himself accommodated this very man, to a large amount, in emergency. He said nothing, however; well aware that if they came to a rupture, the state of his affairs would in all probability be published abroad, and so rendered more deplorable than ever by affecting his, as yet, unblemished credit.

As with a heavy heart he was leaving his friend's door, he observed several servants with a fine black dog-a noble animal it appearedwhich they were preparing to drown in the river at hand; and being struck with pity for a creature in distress, he inquired what the poor animal had done to merit so hard a fate.

"He has become lame," replied the diamondmerchant. I bought him at a very high price, thinking to make money by him, as he is a capital sporting dog; but one unlucky night, in defending my shop against some thieves, he got an unfortunate and desperate blow on the leg, which I am told will never be cured; so I am going to have him drowned, as I can't keep idle servants."

"It's a pity, too; he's a noble animal. Let

me beg for him! See now how anxious his poor eyes look, as if he understood what we are saying. Spare his life, as the hurt was got in doing you such a signal service."

Spare his life-that I may have the cost of his keep? No, indeed; I'm not such a blockhead!"

"Well, then, will you make him a present to me? I will take his cost, to save his life. What is his name?"

"Beelzebub."

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Bring him here, boy."

And the string being loosened from the dog's neck, he went immediately to his new master, licking his hand, and looking up into his face, as if every word he had spoken for him had dropped right into his heart, and as if he were fully aware that he owed him his life. He followed him without the slightest hesitation; and when the poor pearl-merchant reached his house, and threw himself despondingly upon a couch, the dog lay down at his feet, and continued looking into his face so sympathisingly that words could not have expressed more, had he been gifted with speech.

"Ah, woe is me!" sighed the unhappy merchant; "and how bitterly, alas! does poverty tell upon one! Could I have believed in the black ingratitude of that man, to whom my purse has been so often opened, and my credit served as a safeguard! How fawning and flattering he was in my prosperity! and now that a cloud lowers over me, how cold and sour the aspect I met with Where, where, alas! can I obtain six thousand sequins? And that alone can keep me afloat."

In sad thoughts and bitter sighs passed the first hours of the night, till Heaven, taking pity on his sufferings, sent a sweet slumber to the weary eyelids, and pleasant dreams soothed the perturbed spirit.

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without the knowledge of the door-keeper. Could it, he asked himself, be the diamondmerchant, repentant of his unkindness and ingratitude, who had taken this way of repairing the hard-heartedness he had previously shown? But no-no, it could not be he, who had proved his black nature towards two faithful friends in one day; he gave up the idea even. However, all the force of imagination was fruitless towards discovering the generous being who had become his benefactor; and he proceeded joyfully to meet his engagements, and redeem his tottering credit. Scarcely, however, had the last sequin been disbursed, when a fresh inquietude arose to disturb his mind: suppose that the unknown friend to whom he was now become a debtor should suddenly appear, saying, Friend, I helped you in time of need, and now I am in want of assistance myself, so pray give back the loan I brought you so opportunely." What could he answer? what would then become of him, and the safety of his rich freight still in uncertainty? "Oh! my ship, my ship!" he cried aloud, "what has become of thee? My beautiful ship, hast thou been despoiled by corsairs! Art thou become the plaything of a storm, and been whirled in scattered fragments through the air? or hast thou sunk beneath the waves, never more to give tidings of thy whereabouts? Several days and nights passed in this nervous anxiety; but on the fourth morning, as he again arose from a troubled rest, and paced his chamber with restless footstep, he suddenly beheld a piece of paper fall from above, on to the same table where he had found the bag of sequins. Under the idea of some fatal warning, he sprung upon it, and found a letter, directed in proper order to himself, which tearing open, he there read

"Your ship was cast by a storm on the coast of the kingdom of Ophir, but was there repaired by the exertions and toil of your faithful crew. She put to sea again immediately she was worthy, and is now making her harbour with full sails and a fair wind, so that you may hourly expect her in the port."

By early morning, however, he was again awake to his troubles; he sprang from his couch-the torments of utter helplessness and hopelessness wrung bis heart; he pressed his hands upon his temples to still their throbbing, and try to gather courage to meet the storm Here he was once more put to his wits, as to which he knew must soon burst upon him; how this letter had been conveyed; it seemed weak with mental anguish, he let one hand fall to have shot from the clouds, and he became heavily on the table by which he reclined-it | alarmed, lest he might be under a power of encountered a bag of money! yes, a bag of witchcraft. "Can this news be true?" he gold: ten thousand sequins, well reckoned, and mused," or is the foul fiend making a sport of with his address in full, lay on the table before me?" Equally vain were his conjectures respecthim. "Am I awake?" he cried; "am I noting the letter as they had been about the money; still dreaming?" He rubbed his eyes, he gazed fixedly on the bag; then flew to the window, thinking he was under a waking delusion; but no-he returned to the table, and there lay the bag of money, with his address in clear characters before his eyes, in the broad daylight. He asked himself repeatedly how it could have got there without his knowledge? who could the silent benefactor be, who had thus delicately and timely come to save him from ruin and disgrace? He questioned all the house servants; no one had been out, no one had been seen to enter, no stranger they said could have come

and while he was yet uncertain how to take the information it contained, and on the third morning after its receipt, a sudden cry was loudly raised on the quay that the long-expected vessel had hove in sight; and so it proved, for a few hours after saw her comfortably riding at anchor in her native haven. "Allah be praised!" cried the joyful pearl-merchant, when he ascertained that all things had happened exactly as had been stated in the miraculously-received epistle. "Allah be praised!" repeated the grateful merchant. "Ah! how beautiful all things look again, now that I am happy; but no," he cried, "I

D