account, hoping that some hardier philomath may be tempted to explore the same tabernacle, and study this Chaldean sect, who, for aught I know, may be evidences of metempsychosis; at all events, are possessors of that secret mode of communication said to prevail among beings of a higher order, and of which my study in the occult sciences has unfolded to me the rudiments. SOMBRERUS.

ED. We have taken a trip to Wapping on purpose to authenticate, before we published, the account furnished us by our correspondent, Sombrerus. Without any disrespect to him, we must say, that his learning has made him magnify little things, and render clear matters obscure. The result of our visit was, that we found the small alehouse where his adventure took place, and had no difficulty in making out the sign, which was that of a Red Lion, painted by some Dick Tinto, of Wapping. We were ushered into the red-room, where the identical four first characters of his group happened to be. The haughty Potuplis, with his triangular hat and black stuff-gown; the fierce, long-nosed Inanderpoot, in his tartan plaid and kilt; alongside of whom was the troglodyte Amutchkin; and farther off, the woeworn Morales. We must pause here, to intreat our correspondent not to be offended with our plain speaking, and to consider, that if we assume to be better observers of common things than he is, in profound matters we yield the palm to him. The chairman, as he imagined him, was no other than a rich Jewish broker from Hanover, perfectly agreeing in all externals with the accurate picture drawn by Sombrerus, but in no greater respect a favourer of the old regime, than as one of the believers in the dispensations of Moses. The second portrait was equally true to nature, being the faithful representation of Sawney Macintyre, the Scotch bagpiper, and we imagine no further a political economist than as a countryman of Mr. M'Culloch's, and a man of scanty apparel. Near him sat the homo caudatus, and we verily believe the only foundation for such a vilifying species. Sombrerus, in observing him, should have recollected the proverb, that the coat does not make the man; for, on closer inspection, he would have found the wearer of this scarlet jacket to have been an ape, and moreover that it had a head, to the fresh confusion of St. Augustine. This same Jacko might legitimately enough have been a Jacobin, or any thing worse, since he had a chain round his body, and was the slave and vassal of Mr. Alexander Macintyre, who was laird of a monkeyshow; but we must doubt whether he took any part in the debate which Sombrerus shadows forth. The wretched patriot in the green surtout is a poor Spanish emigrant, which may have suggested to the imagination of our correspondent the notion of his part in the discussion; for all his portraits have been founded upon a particle of reality, obscured by a mountain of fanciful conception. Thus we can fancy that the John Bull politician was in sober truth a dustman or coal-porter, and that the young Patagonian savage was an Irish spalpeen in quest of labouring work: the rest of the theory must be sought for in the embellishing imagination of Sombrerus, who was probably obnubilated, and in a brown-stout study at the time. As to his strange vocabulary of names, which he adapted with such moulding ingenuity, we all along suspected from his statement that they were

but ordinary terms distorted by his fancy. Thus, Hear Porter, could have been nothing but the summons, Bring some porter here; PotO'Stout needs no comment, nor More-Ale either; Amutchkin is a mutchkin, or Scotch pint of ale; Potuplis must have been a foreign corruption of, A pot, if you please; and Inanderpoot is likely the Germanism ein ander, another, and poot for pot. Thus we have explained the enigma to our correspondent, at the same time we have no wish to show up or discourage so ardent a cultivator of occult lore from reviving speculations allied to some modern sciences, and very pleasant withal.

MEMOIRS OF CASANOVA,

BY HIMSELF.

[THE following narrative is translated from the memoirs of Jacob Casanova de Seingalt; a work but little known in this country. Casanova was a Venetian, descended from an ancient but decayed family of Spanish origin; he spent a life of vicissitude and adventure, in which he passed through every gradation of poverty and wealth. In the latter part of his life he retired to Dux, in Bohemia, where he left a manuscript of memoirs. This manuscript is the property of the well-known firm of Brockhaus at Leipsic; and from it have been published translated "Extracts," in several volumes, edited by Schütz. A gamester and a libertine, born and residing for a considerable period of his life in a country celebrated for the profligacy of its morals, he has, though certainly unintentionally, produced a work which, judging even from that part which M. Brockhaus thought it prudent to publish, is for the revolting nature of many of the anecdotes, we think nearly unparalleled in modern literature-the limited acquaintance with the German language in this country, has hitherto prevented it from becoming much known. Perhaps the only Extract of the same length in the work, which we could have ventured to present to an English public, is the following history of his escape from the prisons of Venice, which will, we think, be found interesting to our readers. We should, however, in justice mention, that though, as we have stated, Casanova was a man of the most unbounded passions, and of exceedingly loose morals, which he had never been taught to subdue, his vices were rather those of his country and times, than the result of any baseness peculiar to himself. He was certainly a man of considerable talent, and possessed many redeeming virtues, even fully allowing for the colouring which vanity must always lend to the writings of autobiographers.-T.]

It was on the morning of the 25th of July, 1755, just at break of day, when messer grande* entered my chamber. To awake, to see him, and to hear the question, "whether I were Jacob Casanova," was but the work of an instant: I had hardly answered in the affirmative, when he demanded all my papers and letters, and desired me to rise and follow him. I asked by what authority he acted; he replied, by that of the tribunal of the State Inquisition.

* Chief executive officer of the Venetian police.

The word tribunal overpowered me; all my customary resolution yielded to the most implicit obedience; my writing-desk stood open; my writings lay on the table; I told the officer "he might take them." A bag that was carried by one of his assistants was immediately filled with them: I was then required to produce the bound manuscripts which were suspected to be in my possession; I surrendered them, and was at no loss to guess at my infamous accuser. These writings of magical and cabalistical contents, were the "Clavicula Salomonis," the "Zecor-ben," "Picatrix," essays on the planetary periods in which magical incantations were to be performed, and other works of a similarly learned nature; whoever knew me to be in the possession of these, would consider me as a magician, and that I did not by any means regret.

The books also on my table, Horace, Ariosto, Petrarch, a manuscript, and the works of Aretin, were not overlooked.

While the chief of the police was searching for my papers, I dressed myself mechanically; caused myself to be shaved and my hair to be dressed; and put on a silken suit; and messer grande, whose eyes were never turned from me, seemed to feel no surprise at my dressing with so much care.

On my leaving the chamber, I was not a little startled by seeing from thirty to forty officers of police; they had done me the honour to consider me worthy of their attendance, though according to the proverb, "Ne Hercules quidem contra duos," two would have been quite sufficient. Is it not extraordinary that in England, where courage is innate, one man is considered sufficient to arrest another, while in my country, where cowardice has set up her home, thirty are required for the purpose? Probably a coward is still more one when he attacks, than when he is attacked, and that makes the person assaulted bolder; the truth is, in Venice one man is often seen opposing twenty sbirri, he gives them a good beating, and escapes.

Messer grande desired me to enter a gondola, and seated himself by my side; four men remained with him, the rest were dismissed; we proceeded to his dwelling, where, after offering me coffee, which I refused, he locked me in a room; I remained there four hours; when the clock struck three* the head of the sbirri entered, and told me he had orders to take me to the "Camerotti." I followed him, and after passing in a gondola through many bye canals, we entered the "canal grande," and stopped at the quay of the prisons: a flight of steps led us over a high, enclosed bridge, which connects the prisons with the ducal palace, and is thrown over the canal, called "Via di Palazzo;" from hence a gallery, leading through a chamber, brought us to another, in which I was presented to a man in the dress of a patrician; he cast a glance on me and said, "It is he, secure him well;" this was the secretary to the state inquisitors, Domenico Cavalli.

I was delivered over to the superintendant of the Camerotti, who, accompanied by two of his men, led me up stairs through three long chambers, two of which were locked, into a dirty garret. It was about

*The time throughout the narrative is reckoned after the Italian method.

This is the name these celebrated prisons are known by in Venice; in the German the original word signifies "lead-chambers," from a cause noticed in the narrative.

six yards long and two broad, and received light through a hole in the roof. I concluded that this was to be my prison, but I was mistaken; my jailer seized a large key, and opened a strong iron-bound door, about three feet and a half high, and which had a hole in the middle, eight inches square; on being desired to enter, I observed with curiosity a machine of iron, fastened to the wall: my attendant, on noticing my surprize, said, laughing, "The signor is puzzled to guess the use of this machine; I can help him; when the illustrious inquisitors command a prisoner to be strangled, he is obliged to sit on a stool with his back against this iron, which incloses half of his neck; the other half is surrounded by a silken cord, which is passed through these two holes in the wall, and is fastened to a windlass, which is turned till the culprit has given his soul back to God; but the confessor does not leave him till life is fled."

"Ingeniously contrived! and probably you have the honour of turning the windlass," I replied; but my worthy companion was silent.

As I was five feet nine inches high, I was compelled to stoop double to enter the door, which was immediately closed on me. The jailor asked me, through the grating, what I would have to eat; I answered, I had not yet thought about it; he left the place, and I heard him lock door after door as he went.

Sullen and overwhelmed, I leaned on my elbows against the grating of the window, reflecting on my fate; six iron bars, each one inch thick, crossing each other, formed sixteen small holes five inches square, in an opening of two feet square; my dungeon would have received light enough through these, if it had not been for a beam eighteen inches thick, which crossed before the opening in the roof. I discovered on groping about, and stooping my head, so low was the place, only three sides of the room; the fourth seemed to form an alcove, in which a bed could be placed; but neither couch, table, nor chair were to be found-I made use of a shelf, about a foot broad, which was fastened to the wall, and there laid my fine silken mantle, my gala dress, assumed in an unlucky hour, with my hat and plume. The heat was intolerable, and drove me to the grating, where at least I could rest, leaning on my elbows; the window itself I could not see; but by the light from it, I saw rats as large as rabbits running about the garret; these disgusting creatures, at the sight of which I shuddered, were bold enough even to come close to the grating; I immediately shut the opening in the door, for my blood ran cold at the idea of their approaching me. I sank into a deep reverie, and leaning with folded arms against the grating, stood silent and motionless.

The clock striking twenty-one, raised anxiety in my mind at the non-appearance of any human being; I was left without food, without a bed, or a chair; I had not even bread and water: I was not in truth hungry, but none could know that, nor seemed to care whether I were or not. I felt, though, a bitterness in my mouth I never experienced before; I still hoped that some one would appear before the end of the day; but when it struck four-and-twenty, and none came, my rage broke loose; I howled, stamped, cursed, and screamed as loud as I could, and made as much noise as was possible; I passed an hour in this occupation, but neither did any one show himself, nor had I

any reason to hope that I was even heard; involved in darkness, I shut the grating to keep out the rats, and binding a handkerchief round my head, laid myself at full length on the floor.

So complete a neglect of me, even if my death were resolved on, seemed impossible. I thought a moment to try to remember the crime that had drawn down this punishment, but I could recollect no great fault I had been guilty of; that I was licentious, and spoke whatever came into my mind, and that I sought every enjoyment of life, did not render me guilty; nevertheless, I was treated as a criminal of the worst description. The reader may conceive what hatred and desperation rage inspired me with, against a despotism that could be familiar with such oppression: nevertheless, neither the violence of my anger, nor the depth of my grief, nor the hardness of the floor, hindered me from falling asleep; my body required rest; and when a man is young, he often obtains as much as he requires when he least would expect it.

The midnight bell aroused me; dreadful is the waking that causes as to lament the unreality of the deceptions of slumber. I could hardly imagine that I had spent three hours free from the feeling of any misery. Without rising, while lying on my left side, I reached my right arm out to get my handkerchief, which I remembered confusedly to have put near me; but oh, Heavens! what did my hand encounter-another, cold and stiff as ice. Fear penetrated me from head to foot, and my hair stood on end; never had I felt before such a trembling; I lay for five minutes motionless; at last recollecting myself a little, it occurred to me that it might be imagination only, which had deceived me; in this persuasion I reached forth my arm again, and again encountered the same hand, which, with a cry of horror, I dropped from my grasp; I trembled still; but on reflexion, I concluded that a corpse had been laid by my side while I was sleeping, for I was certain when I first laid down there was nothing on the floor. I stretched my hand out a third time to be convinced, by feeling, of the truth of this supposition; but when I leaned on my elbow to effect this, I found, on touching the cold hand, that it began to move; I was now convinced that what my right hand grasped, was only my own left one, which, by my lying on it for so long a time, had lost all feeling and warmth.

This discovery was in itself laughable enough, but instead then of enlivening me, it rather suggested the gloomiest reflexions. I saw myself in a place, where if what was false seemed true, truth itself became a dream; where reason lost half her powers, and where the fancy fell a prey to delusive hopes or fearful despondencies. I began to be distrustful of the reality of every thing which presents itself to our senses, or our mind. Approaching my thirtieth year, I summoned philosophy for the first time to my aid. All the elements lay in my soul, but no occasion had ever called them forth into action, and I believe the majority die without ever attaining a correct judgment.

I lay till eight o'clock: the dawn of day began to appear at a quarter after nine: the sun must rise: I impatiently anticipated the approach of morning. I had a feeling, which seemed like conviction, that I should be dismissed to my home; and I could not suppress the longing for revenge that glowed in my bosom. The time ap

Ост. 1826.

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