ever, I liked this kind of proceeding better than the methods that are pursued in our courts and chambers. I will endeavour to give an idea of this lawcase, and of the simplicity and little formality with which it was conducted.

The judges were ranged in a semicircle on one side of a spacious hall in the Ducal Palace. In front of the tribunal, on a bench, long enough to contain several persons, were seated the advocates of the contending parties; and behind the advocates was a bench for their clients. The counsel for the plaintiff left his place, as the case was not intended to be argued on that day; but the documents of both sides were to be read, though they had already been printed.

A miserable-looking clerk, in a shabby black gown, and with a thick roll of papers in his hand, was in readiness to commence the reading of the documents. The hall was filled by a numerous auditory. The question itself, and the rank of the parties interested, were calculated to excite public attention.

In the Venetian States, the Fidei-commissum is sacred in the eye of the law and in public opinion. Property of any description, on which this character is once conferred, can never be divested of it. Though it should have been alienated for ages, and have passed from hand to hand, yet immediately on its being reclaimed, the family of the original possessor recover their rights, and the possessions must be restored to them.

The case that came under consideration to-day was one of the highest importance; for the claim was made against the Doge himself, or rather against his wife, who, with her coif on her head, was seated at a little distance from the plaintiff, on the bench allotted to the contending parties. She appears to be about the middle age. Her figure is tall and dignified, and her handsome countenance has a grave and even a melancholy expression. To see their princess thus publicly appear before a tribunal in her own palace, was a circumstance which seemed to exalt the Venetians in their own estimation. The clerk commenced the reading of the documents, and I now for the first time understood the duty assigned to a little man who was seated on a stool in front of the judges, and at a short distance from the advocates' bench. Before him stood a small table, on which was an hour-glass turned down, As long as the clerk continued reading, time was not reckoned; but, on the other hand, the moments were counted as soon as an advocate opened his mouth. While the clerk read the documents, the hour-glass was turned down, and the little man held his hand over it; but if the advocate happened to make an observation, it was immediately turned up, and then turned down again as soon as he ceased speaking, During the reading of the documents, the great art of the advocate consists in hastily throwing in appropriate remarks, calculated to excite attention. On the present occasion, I observed that the alternation of repose and action, frequently threw the little Saturn into the utmost perplexity. He was every moment obliged to change the horizontal or vertical position of the hour-glass. He appeared to be very much in the situation of the Devil in the puppet-show, who, in the rapidity of Harlequin's movements, scarcely knows when he ought to make his entrance or his exit.

Whoever has witnessed the collating of documents in a German court, may form an idea of the Venetian clerk's style of reading. He maintained throughout a monotonous tone of voice, and in spite of great rapidity of utterance, he articulated distinctly and very intelligibly. The advocate occasionally interrupted this dull proceeding, and enlivened the spirits of the auditory by jokes and witty observations on the subject of the documents, which excited loud peals of laughter. One of the most comic traits that escaped him was as follows:

The clerk was reading one of the documents relating to some bequests made by one of the individuals who were affirmed to be the unlawful possessors of the property which was the subject in dispute. The counsel for the plaintiff, who had begged him to read more deliberately, on hearing distinctly uttered these words, "I give and bequeath," started up, exclaiming: "You give and bequeath, indeed! a poor starving destitute wretch like you! What have you to give and bequeath? But," continued he, in a calmer tone, "this very high and powerful signior was in the same predicament. He gave and bequeathed that which belonged to him no more than it does to you." This sally was received with a roar of laughter, and the hour-glass immediately resumed its horizontal position. The clerk darted an angry look at the advocate, and then renewed his psalmody. But this part of the farce, as well as the rest, was all settled before-hand.

THE MUSIC IN THIS NUMBER OF

THE PARTHENON.

SOME of our correspondents call upon us for more music than we usually print; others seem to think that we already insert too much. We have endeavoured to conciliate their conflicting tastes by printing in the last and in this number, two pieces, making half a sheet, which, upon consideration, appears to be that proportion of our work which may, in general, be fairly appropriated to this department of its contents. The insertion of a precise number of pages of music, cannot, however, be made an invariable rule; we must be at liberty to increase or diminish the quantity, as circumstances may require. The selections of music in the present number are first, a romance, or as it is entitled, a romanzetta, from an opera by Caraffa, inserted at page 267, and second, a Cavatina, from Sphor's opera of Faust, which is here. subjoined.

With regard to the first of these pieces, we have been guided in our selection by the present popularity of the composer, rather than by any extraordinary merit of the composition. It is, however, a pleasing little song, and, when tastefully executed with the piano-forte accompaniment, will, we doubt not, be pretty generally admired. Caraffa is the author of several operas, and his works are very popular on the continent,-at least, their frequent performance at foreign concerts would lead one to suppose so. In England, the only one of Caraffa's productions which has attained any degree of celebrity, is his song, Aure Felici, which is introduced in Rossini's Cenerentola. That composition is, however, sufficient to stamp its author as a man of elegant and original fancy.

The beauty of Spohr's Cavatina, will, we trust, prove our apology for once more returning to she opera of Faust, from which we made several selections for preceding numbers of the Parthenon. We have already pointed out the resemblance which Sophr's music frequently presents to the style of Handel; and we must repeat this remark with reference to the piece which we now insert, for in it the similarity is peculiarly obvious.