there was a long board covered with a black pall, supporting a coffin; a large crucifix stood in front of it, and a scull, a friar's habit, a book of prayer, and all the paraphernalia of death, were dismally exhibited to the astonished and chilled sight of the grandees. The king now ordered the doors to be shut upon his guests, and in a firm and commanding voice proceeded to address them. 'Behold the second course of your dinner! but, before I suffer your indulging in it, as well as in the dessert which is to crown the feast, I must put a few preliminary questions. You, Sir Archbishop, in due consideration of your exalted capacity and distinguished rank, are perhaps the most proper person to give the desired answers.'-After a short pause, he continued, in a more austere tone, 'Tell me now, truly, how many kings have you known in Castile?'Why, please your highness,' answered the bewildered prelate, I have known three: the great Don Henrique, of Trastamara, your grandsire, your father Don Juan, and your gracious self.'—The king then put the same question to several other grandees, and they answered, two or three, according to their ages. Henry, assuming an indignant frown, exclaimed, -For shame, you prevaricate and deceive your sovereign: the eldest asserts that he has known three kings of Castile only; and how can this be, when I, who am so very much your inferior in years, have seen at least half a dozen?'

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Another point remains to be settled,' resumed Henry. You have seen the sort of entertainment I have prepared for you. It certainly cannot be compared in splendour to the one lately given by the archbishop. At that banquet you may remember a certain orphan minstrel was present, whose wrongs you all volunteered to redress. I have taken the task upon myself, and I swear that the orphan shall have the most ample reparation!' The archbishop and his companions were thunderstruck at these words; they prudently abstained from opening their lips in vindication, but preserved a deep silence, in anxious suspense for the cata strophe of this drama. This indeed took place even sooner than they expected. The king made a sign, and a secret door was opened, from which a civil officer, a priest, and an executioner, came forward: the ominous sight chilled the delinquent nobles with dismay. The black pall was partially removed, and the block

VOL. X.

and the axe were discovered to the view. Don Henry proceeded;- Sirs, you are in the case of the orphan; it is by your own sentence that you are condemned. First, then, you must sign a confession of your guilt, and a deed by which you give back to the rightful owner what your ra pacity has usurped.'-These documents were quickly signed by the guardians.-'It now only remains,' resumed the king, in a stern tone of voice, to carry into effect the second part of the sentence pronounced by the archbishop. My lords, commend your souls to God, and prepare for death.' At these awful words the prelate and his horror-stricken companions immediately prostrated themselves at the feet of their offended sovereign, and, pleading guilty, endeavoured by their prayers to soften his heart, and obtain pardon. The king now relaxed from his imposing attitude, and released the culprits from their painful suspense. You are forgiven,' he said; for I would not darken my birth-day with deeds of blood. But you shall remain in strict confinement until a full and satisfactory restitution of all your shameful spoliations. Those of my guests whom I have summoned here merely to be spectators of this scene and profit by the lesson, may depart in peace; but those who formed the regency, and who have answered so shamefully to the trust reposed in them, must be accompanied to prison by my faithful officers. There they shall remain until my just demands are satisfied.""

It is hardly necessary to add, that the spirit of the young king was applauded by his loyal subjects, and that he commenced his actual reign with general applause.

MONTI AND HIS WIFE,

from the Loves of the Poets.

MONTI, who died in the last year, cannot yet be allowed to take that place which belongs to him among the great names of his country. A poet is illcalculated to play the part of a politician; and the praise and blame which were so profusely and indiscriminately heaped on Monti while living, must be removed by time and dispassionate criticism, before justice can be done to him, either as a man or a poet. The mingled grace and energy of his style, however, obtained for him the appellation of Il Dante grazioso;

4 P

and he has left something striking in every possible form of composition-lyric, dramatic, epic, and satirical.

Amidst all the changes of his various life, all the trying vicissitudes of spirits, and the wear and tear of mind which attend a poet by profession, tasked to almost constant exertion, Monti possessed two enviable treasures;-a lovely and devoted wife, with a soul which could appreciate his powers and talents, and exult in his fame,-and a daughter equally amiable, and still more beautiful and highly-gifted. He has immortalised both, and has left delightful proofs of the charm and glory which poetry can throw round the purest and almost hallowed relations of domestic life.

When he was a young man at Rome, caressed by popes and nephews of popes, with the most brilliant ecclesiastical preferments opening before him, all these flattering views at once gave way to a passion which sometimes in real life plays the part assigned to it in romancetrampling on interest and ambition, and mocking at tiaras and cardinals' hats. Monti fell in love, and fell out of the good graces of his patrons; he threw off the habit of an abbate, married his Teresa in spite of the world and fortune; and, instead of an aspiring priest, became a great poet.

Teresa was the daughter of Pichler the celebrated gem-engraver. I have heard her described, by those who knew her in her younger days, as one of the most beautiful creatures in the world. Brought up in the studio of her father, in whom the spirit of ancient art seemed to have revived for modern times, Teresa's mind as well as person had caught a certain impress of antique grace, from the constant presence of beautiful and majestic forms; but her favorite study was music, in which she was a proficient; her voice and her harp made as many conquests as her faultless figure and her bright eyes. After her marriage she did not forget her favorite art; and she, whose talent had charmed Zingarelli and Guglielmi, was accustomed, in the hour of domestic privacy, to soothe, enchant, and inspire her husband. In one of his poems, he has tenderly commemorated her musical powers. He calls on his wife, during a period of persecution, poverty, and despondence, to touch her harp, and (as

she

was wont) to raise his sinking

spirit, and unlock the source of nobler thoughts.

No man had that temperament which is supposed to accompany genius, more completely than Monti. He was fond and devoted in the domestic relations of life; but he was variable in spirits, ardent, restless, and subject to fits of gloom. And how often must the literary disputes and political tracasseries in which he was engaged, have embittered and irritated so susceptible a mind and temper! When his wife was at his side to soothe him with her music and her smiles and her tenderness, it was well,-the clouds passed away: but, in her absence, every suffering seemed aggravated, and we find him-like one spoiled and pampered with attention and love-yielding to an irritable despondency, which even the presence of his children could not alleviate.

The most remarkable of all his conjugal effusions, is a canzone written a short time before his death, when he was more than seventy years of age. Nothing can be more affecting than the subdued tone of melancholy tenderness, with which the grey-haired poet apostrophises her who had been the love, the pride, the joy of his life for forty years. In power and poetry, this piece will bear a comparison with many of the more rapturous effusions of his youth. The occasion on which it was composed is thus stated. When Monti was recovering from a long and dangerous illness, through which he had been tenderly nursed by his wife and daughter, he accompanied them to a villa near Brianza, the residence of a friend, where they were accustomed to celebrate the birth-day of Signora Monti; and it was here that her husband, weak from recent illness and accumulated infirmities, addressed to her that poem which thus pleasingly begins: - "Why, O thou dearer half of my soul, dost thou watch over me so mute and pensive? Why are thine eyes heavy with suppressed tears?" After reminding her that she cannot hope to retain him much longer, even by all her love and care, he exclaims, Remember that Monti cannot wholly die! think, O think! I leave thee dowered with no obscure, no vulgar name!" He then makes a tender transition to his daughter, who was in a state of recent widowhood. This lady, who inherited no small portion of her father's genius, and all her mother's grace and beauty,

was married to the count Giulio Perticari, a man of uncommon taste and talents, and an admired poet. He died in the same year with Canova, to whom he had been a friend and companion, while his lovely wife furnished the sculptor with a model for his ideal heads of vestals and poetesses. Those who saw the countess Perticari at Rome, such as she appeared seven or eight years ago, will not easily forget her brilliant eyes, and yet more brilliant talents. She too is a poetess.

A RUSSIAN POET.

AMONG the living poets of Russia, Ivan Kozlov bears a respectable, if not the highest rank. He is, indeed, chiefly a translator; but some of his original pieces are admired. His Chernetz, or the Monk, which may be regarded as a rifacciamento of lord Byron's Giaour, was, we believe, the first piece that raised him into fame; and he afterwards published a good or at least a tolerable translation of the Bride of Abydos. A poetical volume bearing his name appeared in the last year. The first piece which it contains is the magnificent address to the sea, from the fourth canto of Childe Harold, commencing with the stanza, "There is a pleasure in the path less woods." Kozlov has adhered to the original metre as far as regards the number of lines in the stanza, but has deviated from the arrangement of the rhymes, as here there is only one triple rhyme, namely, of the second, fourth, and fifth lines, which certainly is no improvement. As to the translation itself, it is perhaps as close as the difference of the two languages would permit, every idea being retained, except those which depend upon particular epithets: but it is almost impossible to transfer into a very dissimilar language all the beauties of a poet, especially of one like Byron. The next piece from the same author is from the first canto of Lara, to which succeed the spirit's song in Manfred, stanzas to Thyrza, and the Hebrew melody beginning with "Sun of the sleepless." From Moore we meet with translations of "The minstrel boy to the war is gone," and a few more of the Irish melodies; and from Scott one of the ballads in Rokeby-" Brignall banks are wild and fair."

Among the original pieces in the volume we meet with one which has been thus translated by a writer in the Literary Gazette.

"Kiev! where life and true religion dawned within our land; where the bright cross gleams upon the cupola of Petchersk, like a star in the blue heavens; where verdure and golden plenty crown the fields, and the waves of the Dnieper foam and beat against thy antique walls!

"How oft does my soul fly toward thee, bright city! How oft in fancy is my sight enraptured by thy sacred beauty! Forgetting the world, I often linger near the convent-walls, or wander in the dead of night along the Dnieper's banks: all is Russian, beautiful, grand, holy.

"The moon has risen; the golden domes of Petchersk glitter in the waves of the river; her ruins call back ages to the memory; holy martyrs sleep within her vaults; the shade of Vladimir hovers over her; her battlements speak of glory. Fancy dwells around me, and the spirit of antiquity hallows all.

"In those fields many a gallant hero has fought; within these towers high-born damsels have dwelt, young, beautiful, and timid, and the minstrel sang to them of battles, feeding the secret ardor of their hearts. But the midnight bell tolls! the sound dies upon the air—another day has joined the past.

"Where are the bold who fought, whose sharp swords gleamed like lightening? Where are the beautiful, whose mild glances charmed and captivated all? Where are the bards, whose minstrelsy enchanted? Alas! that midnight bell has answered all! Thy waves alone, O Dnieper, still beat against the sacred towers!"

REVIEW OF THE NOVEL OF ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN.

[concluded from page 602.]

THE story continues to interest the reader, without suffering his attention to languish into indifference. Having noticed the arrival of the banished earl of Oxford and his son at the Burgundian court, we proceed to observe, that the duke received the distinguished strangers with friendly respect, and readily accepted their offers of service. He soon after made war on

the Swiss, and, after repeated defeats, lost his life in Lorraine.

In the duke's last campaign, Arthur, who, as the lover of Anne, may be considered as the hero of the novel, is employed in reconnoitring the hostile camp, when his rival Rudolf approaches, for the purpose of deciding the old contest for the lady's hand. They fight manfully, and the Swiss knight is killed; yet the victorious Englishman is allowed by the enemy to retire in safety, under the protection of a knight whom he recognises as count Albert, the father of Anne. An interesting conversation ensues, tending to confirm Arthur's hopes of a successful termination of his addresses." My daughter (says the count) has told me of what has passed betwixt you and her. Your sentiments and conduct are worthy of the noble house you descend from, which I well know ranks with the most illustrious in Europe. You are indeed disinherited; but so is Anne of Geierstein, save such pittance as her uncle may impart to her of her paternal inheriIf you share it together till better days (always supposing your noble father gives his consent, for my child shall enter no house against the will of its head), my daughter knows that she has my willing consent, and my blessing. My brother (the landamman) shall also know my pleasure. He will approve my purpose; for, though dead to thoughts of honour and chivalry, he is alive to social feeling; loves his niece, and has friendship for thee and for thy father. What say'st thou, young man, to taking a beggarly countess to aid thee in the journey of life? I believe I prophecy (for I stand so much on the edge of the grave, that methinks I command a view beyond it), that a lustre will one day, after I have long ended my doubtful and stormy life, beam on the coronets of De-Vere and Geierstein."

tance.

It afterwards appears that Albert has received an order from the Secret Tribunal to take away the duke's life in revenge for his injustice and tyranny. He desires his young friend to communicate this alarming mandate to Charles, who hears it with indignation, but without grief or despondence.

The duke's last defeat was chiefly occasioned by treachery. He was found dead, stripped, and plundered, and "close behind him, as if they had fallen in the act of mutual fight, lay the corpse of count Albert."

The novel now draws to a close. Sigismund, the count's nephew, says to Arthur, You shall go back to Geierstein, and take up your dwelling with us. Your father will be as a brother to mine, and you shall be as a brother to us all in place of poor Rudiger, who was, to be sure, my real brother, which you cannot be; nevertheless I did not like him so well, because he was not so good-natured. And then Anne,-cousin Anne,—is left wholly to my father's charge, and is now at Geierstein-and you know, king Arthur, we used to call her queen Guenover.""You spoke great folly then," said Arthur.-"But it is great truth; for look you, I loved to tell Anne tales of our hunting and so forth; but she would not listen to a word till I threw in something of king Arthur, and then I warrant she would sit still as a heath-hen when the hawk is in the heavens. And now Donnerhugel is slain, you know you may marry my cousin when you and she will, for nobody hath interest to prevent it."

Arthur, as we may suppose, was married to Anne, and he and his father resided in Switzerland in peaceful privacy. But at length the attempt of Henry earl of Richmond to dethrone the tyrant Richard, called them from their obscurity, and their zeal and courage con tributed to the success of the Lancastrian prince. Arthur then relinquished his farm, and the "manners and beauty of his wife attracted as much admiration at the English court as formerly in the Swiss chalet."

gard to Greece, and rescue the whole of that country from the tyrannical grasp of vile barbarians, they will deserve severe censure rather than high praise. They are said to be still employed in the adjustment of that important business. The establishment of a Greek monarchy has been confidently mentioned as a part of their scheme; and this, we think, will be preferable to a republic both for unity and strength. In the mean time, the authority of the congress, though not undisputed, is exercised for the apparent benefit of the people. The most expedient means are devised for accelerating the moral and political restoration of Greece. The basis of the intended settlement is stated by the leading members to be the improvement of general education, not only by increasing the number of primary schools, but by founding many of a higher description, as well for those who dedicate themselves to the church, as for such as wish to serve the state in a civil capacity, or to devote their attention to the arts and sciences.

Affairs of Portugal.-The beloved Don Miguel (as the priests call him) prosecutes his arbitrary career without feeling or remorse. The executions, indeed, decline in number; but he still makes search for patriotic victims of oppression. His title has been acknowleged, to his great joy, by the pope and the king of Spain; and it is supposed that other powers will soon follow the example; but we hope that the British court will not so degrade itself. The inhabitants of the Azores, however, scorn the idea of submitting to his sovereignty; and they lately acted with such spirit, as to defeat the armament which he sent to subdue them. We may here observe that the people of the independent Mexican state displayed equal courage in baffling the recent attempts of Ferdinand to re-subject them to his detested yoke.

16. A naval Accident.-A frigate, used as a hulk for the safe keeping of convicts, became suddenly endangered by the unusual height of the tide. Its moorings were appropriated in length to the ordinary rise and fall of the tide, and it was farther secured by piles; but these precautions did not prevent the water from rushing furiously into the hold. About 200 persons, almost all of whom were convicts, were roused from their sleep, and the cries of many of them were

dreadfully appalling. At this critical moment, captain Lloyd, leaving his wife in the cabin, and not waiting to dress himself, acted with such prompt alacrity, and gave such seasonable directions, that all except three were extricated from danger. In some cases of this kind, so many would have simultaneously pressed forward to escape, that the greatest confusion would have ensued, to the imminent danger of the whole number on board; but the convicts, though wet and almost naked, were so tractable and orderly, that the captain and his assistants met with no obstruction to their efforts.

November.-An attack upon a General by a Lady.-The aged and infirm governor of Portland castle received an alarming epistle, intimating that four "desperate reduced tradesmen," armed with swords and pistols, were in want of fifty pounds to enable them to emigrate, and insisted on his depositing that sum in a certain spot, on pain of speedy death. The general complied with this request, but ordered some servants to keep watch. A countryman having taken up the note, and restored it to its owner, a second denunciation of death was sent, which led to the apprehension of a lady who was seen loitering about the spot. An officer of the police then searched the cottage which she occupied, and found paper exactly corresponding with that which the letter-writer had used. Being interrogated, she confessed her guilt, adding that extreme poverty had driven her to this irregular mode of application. She had hitherto been supposed to be in good circumstances, and her deportment and manners were rather genteel than vulgar. If her distress had been known, she would have been assisted and relieved; but, as she had acted so improperly and illegally, she was desired to quit the isle of Portland without delay.

13.-An extraordinary Charge.--A publican in the Borough, going into one of his bed-chambers, found a stranger in the bed with his clothes on, apparently in a sound sleep. He instantly awoke him, and asked him what business he had there. The reply was, "Quit my presence instantly on pain of death-dare not disturb the repose of the great Katerfelto!" The tone of command with which this was uttered had no effect on the landlord, who took hold of the man to pull him from the bed, when he was astounded by