From this we were ushered into the sala, which contained a horse-hair sofa, so hard and high that one was perpetually slipping off, and six chairs to correspond; a folded card-table whereon stood a silver lucerna, and a press with glass-doors, in which a set of cups and saucers was displayed.

To accommodate their numerous guests, our host and his niece brought in a number of chairs from adjoining rooms, and seated us with great bustle and ceremony; an operation diversified by the Signora Placida's continually darting into some obscure region of the house, whence she could be overheard disputing with a shrillvoiced attendant, or energetically clattering glasses and plates, in a manner that singularly belied her name. Meantime, the canonico talked and gesticulated, patted the youngest midshipman on the head, to his evident disgust, entertained Madame Vwith the history of his relative, on whose virtues he pronounced a glowing panegyric, and recounted to the consul the latest miracles performed at the Santa Casa, while he shook his finger playfully at my cousins, as if menacing them with a return to their ancient hostilities. Presently the circle received an addition in the shape of another priest, Don Antonio, a great friend of our canonico's, and almost as rosy, and pursy, and jovial as himself, who now came to have his share of the good things and see the forestieri.

This was one of those quaint Italian friendships I have so often noticed. It commenced in boyhood at the seminary, had been renewed on our host's establishing himself at Loretto, and would probably continue unbroken till the end of their days. Regularly as clock-work used Don Antonio to come every evening to make la società-limited to himself, I believe-play at cards, and discuss the petty scandal of the place. I asked him if they ever read, at which he shrugged his shoulders, and said that after going through the daily office in the breviary, for his part he must own he had had enough of study. This facetious response was loudly echoed by the canonico, and they laughed over it in chorus with a sound more resembling the shaking of stones in a barrel than any human manifestation of hilarity.

The chocolate was now brought in by the serva, and handed to us by the two friends and the niece. It was made thick, and served in cups without handles, and tea-spoons not being apparently considered requisite, the uninitiated found some difficulty in discussing it with propriety; but after watching our entertainers, we perceived that the approved method was to steep in it morsels of rusks which had been distributed at the same time, and then convey them daintily to one's lips through the medium of the thumb and forefinger. This was followed by trays of ices and sweetmeats from the caffè, the canonico observing significantly, he well remembered the signorine were always fond of dolci; and when, to please him, every one had eaten as much as he possibly could, he insisted on pouring all the remaining bon-bons into our handkerchiefs, to amuse us, as he expressed it, on our way home.

When it was time to think of going, he declared we must first see the house, and took us into a small adjoining room, containing a writing-table with a dried-up inkstand, and two or three shelves adorned with some very dusty dry-looking folios in parchment covers. This den, he told us, he retired to when he studied or had letters to write-both rare occurrences, it was evident. Next we were shewn the dining-room, with no furniture but a table and rush-bottomed chairs, and opening into the kitchen-a custom also generally followed in houses of higher pretensions, but opposed to all our notions of quiet or refinement; and, lastly, into his and the niece's sleeping apartments, in each a clumsy wooden bedstead, rickety chest of drawers-on which, under a glass shade, stood a figure of the infant St John in wax, with staring blue eyes

and flaxen curls-two chairs, the usual tripod-shaped washing-stand, and an engraving of some devotional subject, with a crucifix, a little receptacle for holywater, and a palm that had been blessed at Easter, hanging near the pillow. You may enter a hundred bedrooms in families of the middle class in this part of Italy, and see them fitted up after the same pattern; those of the provincial nobility have a little more display in mirrors, or pictures, but no greater comfort. The introduction of all the visitors into the canonico's chamber was not, I suspect, wholly without design; for our attention was speedily attracted to a cotta or alb of fine white cambric lying upon the bed, the most elaborate specimen of the art of crimping it was possible to behold. The niece immediately held it up for our closer inspection, while the uncle stood by smiling; and in answer to our praises of the exquisite designs of flowers, leaves, &c., with which it was wrought, entirely by a manual process, told us it was the work of the nuns of a particular order-I forget the name -a very strict one, moreover, who, by way of serving the altar, dedicate themselves to the preparation of this part of the priestly vestments. This marvellous example of fine plaiting, however, was but the least recommendation of the ephod, which was trimmed with a deep flounce of the most magnificent pointlace.

'Look at that, look at that!' chuckled the canonico, rubbing his hands with glee; that is the lace which all the ladies of Loretto, and Recanati, and Maceratayes, all of them together-are envious of, when I walk in the procession of the Corpus Domini! I have been offered five hundred dollars for it by a Russian princess who came here on a pilgrimage; but I could not make up my mind to part with it. Look at that tracery-look at that ground, it is perfect—not a thread broken;' and he descanted on it with the zest of a connoisseur.

When he paused in his raptures-Signor Canonico,' meekly suggested La Signora Placida, may I fetch the stole you have just had worked?'

Ah, the little vain thing!' was the rejoinder; 'she is so proud of my vestments! It is a trifle thoughWell, well, bring it out.' And from a long pasteboard box, duly enveloped in tissue-paper, the Signora Placida drew forth a gorgeous stole, the original texture cloth of silver, but almost concealed by raised embroidery in gold.

The canonico has not worn this yet; it is for the great funzione-that is, church-ceremony-of the Madonna in August,' said the niece, with as much earnestness as if she were a lady's-maid talking of her mistress's preparations for a ball, and disposing it so that it might be viewed to the greatest advantage. It really was beautiful as a work of art, due to the skill, as Don Antonio informed us, of another set of nuns, who exclusively applied themselves to needlework in gold and silver.

The pleasure this good man took in the display of his friend's possessions, impressed me very favourably. Per Bacco!' he exclaimed, handling the vestment with respect-'each time I see it, it strikes me more! It is worth-ss-ss-ss-ss,' emitting a long sibillatory whistle, expressive in the Marche of something unlimited, whether of good cheer, astonishment, money, or so forth.

Via, via,' said the canonico modestly, it is not much a poor priest can do. Still, we may place it at the same value as the lace, and be within the mark.'

Our reiterated admiration evidently enchanted the trio; in fact, it was altogether with the most amicable feelings, and with mutual thanks and protestations, we took our leave, the politeness of our entertainer and Don Antonio leading them to give us their company in visiting the bishop's palace and the Farmacea, or pharmacy of the Santa Casa, the last

renowned for its collection of majolica, consisting of three hundred vases coloured from designs by Raphael and his pupils.

No adventures befell us in these perambulations, except that we were more beset and pestered than before, if possible, by the beggars, who followed us in troops, and for whom, I learned with astonish ment, no almshouse or refuge of any kind existed. Concluding our sight-seeing with another visit to the Santa Casa, there remained but time for a hasty dinner, ere we set out on our return to Ancona-the state of the neighbourhood, as we were repeatedly reminded, necessitating our departure in broad daylight.

The usual scene of clamour, begging, imprecations, and blessings attended our exit from Loretto, a place which presents the strongest contrast of wealth and poverty it has ever been my lot to witness, or entered my imagination to conceive.

A VOICE FROM BAKER STREET. 'I COME from Alabama;' but my father's name being of no sort of importance to the public, I reserve it. Suffice it to say that I am an American citizen who has kept pace with his age. I am not only a transcendentalist, but a spirit-rapper; not only a spirit-rapper, but a clairvoyant; and clairvoyance, comprehending of course the well-known faculty of understanding the thoughts of animals, is all that at present I have to do with. Concluding to judge for myself upon every institution of which the old country boasts, I was present at the Smithfield show this year, in Baker Street, and observed narrowly -if narrowly' can be applied to such animalsthe fat cattle, and with the most interesting results. I here subjoin an account of a conversation held, upon the evening of the last day of the show, with an enormously obese, but nevertheless exceedingly intelligent pig. Almost all his brethren had been removed to a place which, from motives of delicacy, we had tacitly agreed to call 'elsewhere,' so that our discourse was quite uninterrupted. I had been putting some leading questions to the animal regarding his personal history, and nothing could exceed the candour and openness of his replies. The following is the substance of his experiences, which as he is, alas! now no more-I feel no hesitation in giving to the public. On my remonstrating with him, at the commencement of his communication, upon his perpetual use of the monosyllable 'Umgh, Umgh,' he repeated it with some acerbity, and continued as follows:

'Umgh, Umgh! I wish I could set down in writing the sentiment which that expression in the mouth of any one of our much-suffering family conveys to porcine ears. No sigh of lover was ever half so affecting, or cost its utterer one-tenth part of the effort, believe me. I am a swine myself, a porker, a Baker Street prize-pig, and I ought to know. Umgh, Umgh. I don't say it comes from the heart, because, like some other over-fed people I might name, I have no heart worth mentioning; but it comes from that spot which the organ of my softer affections, the home of my early memories, the sacred receptacle of the purest feelings of my nature, did once occupy-before it was turned into fat. It emanates-does this "Umgh, Umgh"-from "flabby lungs," with "nodules of the size of a kidney-bean imbedded in them;" and if you don't believe me, why, ask Mr F. G. Gant of the Royal Free Hospital, who saw the very last of my dear brother-in-law, who was at my side but the other day.'

'Who is Mr Gant?' said I, with feeling. 'Mr Gant,' replied the pig, 'is a medical gentleman who has most humanely given a good deal of his time

to an investigation of our wrongs. You may have seen some of his letters, perhaps, in the daily papers. In reply to a post-mortem examination by this surgeon, it transpired, that my stout connection-he was of a celebrated Berkshire family, and highly esteemedhad been going about, or at least had been lying down upon one side, for the last six months "with a hypertrophied left ventricle, and a liver of a dark livid colour;" besides which he enjoyed "congestion of the hepatic veins of the left lobe." I overheard this as being in the Post, one morning, among the rest of the fashionable intelligence, and it gave me quite a turn; which, considering that I weigh one-and-twenty stone, is not, as you may imagine, a very easy thing to do. What did Mr Gant write there in illustration of the pathognomonic condition of my brother-in-law, and other of his Berkshire relatives, while exhibiting in the Baker Street Bazaar? Why this: "They lay helplessly on their sides, with their noses propped up against each other's backs, as if endeavouring to breathe more easily; but their respiration was bad, suffocating, and at long intervals. Then you heard a short catching snore, which shook the whole body of the animal, and passed with the motion of a wave over its fat surface, which, moreover, felt cold." I protest that, when I heard this, a shudder passed with the motion of a wave over my surface, and I dare say, had you put your hand on me just then, that I should have, moreover, felt cold. Why, this beats anything that one ever heard of aldermen. They have laid their heads together often enough for foolish purposes that of making wooden pavements, for one-but not "with their noses propped against each other's backs," I do believe.

"They do breathe rather stertorously under their pocket-handkerchiefs after dinner, perhaps, but"Umgh, Umgh"-the most apoplectic of them has the suspiration of a sleeping infant compared with mine. Turtle even twice a day is no match for oil-cake, you may depend upon it. A certain Devon cow, an acquaintance of my deceased brother-in-law, attracted the benevolent surgeon's attention in this exhibition by looking extremely ill, and "laying her head and neck flat upon the ground like a greyhound." He asked an attendant what was the matter with her, who replied: "I knows nothing of them beasties in particular, but it's the case with many on 'em, I knows that." He might have said, with very little exaggeration, "with all on 'em." There was, for instance, His Grace the Duke of Richmond's fat wether-for I am not making a plea for my own kind only, but for sheep or what not, wether or no, in one common cause-had a heart weighing two and a half ounces. "Its external surface was very soft, greasy, and of a dirty brownish-yellow colour," observes the doctor. "On opening the two ventricular cavities, their external surface and substance were equally soft, greasy, and yellow throughout; an appearance due to the infusion of fat between the muscular fibres of which the heart should chiefly consist. This substitute of fat for muscle is proved (by the microscope) to have ensued; for when examined, the muscular fibres no longer presented the characteristic cross-markings, but the fibrilla within the fibres were entirely broken up by bright globules of fat. The healthy structure of the beast had therefore thoroughly degenerated by its conversion into fat." The heart of the Prince-consort's Devon heifer had both ventricles completely turned into fat. "Did you hever?" as my poor master used to observe to the general company, when enraptured at some proof of my superporcine sagacity. It was through his good offices-severe as they at the time appeared to me--that I became a scholar.

'I was once the learned pig of Greenwich and other fairs, too numerous to mention. Those fairs have long been abolished. Those days have fled for ever;

but the remembrance of them is still to me most sad, most sweet. "Tears_from_the depth of some divine despair," well up as I think of them, from the fatty ventricles about my heart, glimmer at those eyes whose lids I am unable to raise without the aid of my friendly feeder, and trickle down my brown pig's cheeks in silence. Umgh, Umgh! Little did the giantess of Kent, in the same caravan with whom I had the honour to travel, imagine that I should ever come to rival her in weight and bulk. I think I see, even now, that magnificent arm of hers, hanging, as if inadvertently, out of the caravan-window, so that the people outside were induced to rush in in crowds to pay their pennies. I should have admired it more myself, had it not been for its extreme resemblance in size and colour to a Bologna sausage-a delicacy which I understand to have at least the flavour of pig-meat. Our very dancing-dog was at that time but little thinner than I. We were at feud with one another from first to last. I bit one of his dog's ears, I remember, during a little difficulty we had concerning the equal division of some edible; and it is to his rapacity that I owe the fact of my being destitute of a tail; but now my bowels yearn-figuratively, that is, for I have no bowels that can be called such, says Mr Gant-towards my sprightly companion of other days. Happy Rigdum Funnidos, or, as we, his intimates, were wont to call him, Happy Rig! Though thou wast half shaven as to thy body, in fanciful and even ridiculous resemblance to the king of beasts, and redder as to thine eyes than the very albino whose rival attractions excited our old master to frenzy at every fair, thou art yet at least safe from Baker Street. Be content with thy lot. Whatever haps to thee, it is not likely that "the apex of thy left ventricle has given way" through extreme obesity; or that "the thin lining of the cavity thus produced alone prevents thy death occurring instantaneously."

'When I was a learned pig, and wise in mine own conceit, I was wont to murmur: "Umgh, for a life of idleness! Umgh (or "Ah!" as a man would say), to lie in the sunshine all the day long, with plenty of food to be got at without the trouble of rising!" At that time, I despised intellect. My occupation of trotting about in a literary circle-that is to say, in a circle of capital letters-seemed to me then to be a round of existence tedious enough. The stopping sagaciously opposite to the young lady who was to be married within the year, and to the young gentleman who had not paid for his boots, and the guessing at the probable number of olive-trees which should bless their union, seemed very hard work indeed. Shaking hands with my proprietor at the conclusion of the performance was to me a most painful manifestation of friendly feeling: bowing to the company three times was a considerable effort; and standing upon my hind-legs was perfect agony. But what were such slight personal inconveniences to the miseries I suffer now? It is only when my friendly feeder lifts my eyelids that, as I have before mentioned, I possess any evidence of having either hind-legs or fore-legs. The notion of my now standing up on two-nay, upon any, however great a number of legs-would set me laughing, only that I am fully aware that the slightest cachinnation would cause my immediate decease. Any attempt at a bow would now be indeed a congé, and shaking hands, my final farewell to the world. Judges (sic) of what is excellent in pigs, connoisseurs in cattle, umpires of this Baker Street abomination (held, as is most fitting, by the by, under the floor of the Room of Horrors itself), have gloated over me admiringly. They have punched and sounded that delicate ground which lies upon either side and above the spot where my little tail once 66 gracefully curled." (It is a comfort to reflect that even if this had been spared to me, I could

certainly have never turned round so far as to catch a view of it.) They have highly commended me as "Improved Blankshire Breed;" by way of recompense, perhaps, as they fondly imagine, for my "mouth lying open, and nostrils dilating at each painful inspiration."

'They have given me a gold medal to wear at my breast, as if to hide that spot beneath which play-play indeed? work, and work very hard-my congested lungs.

"They have called me with their flattering tongues "a picture," but never bestowed one thought upon what it cost me to be put in such a frame. With my spoiled heart, with my labouring chest, with my vitiated life-fluid, I must be a healthy article of food truly; don't you think so, Brother Jonathan?' 'Poor fat pig,' said I, 'you have my most sincere pity. I calculate that you are going to-a-elsewhere, to-morrow; is it not so?'

Umgh; yes, I suppose such will be my fate. My hope is, my only recompense will be, this-that they, the judges, the arbiters of the destinies of cattle, may buy many pounds of me at the-in point of fact, at the butcher's (the poor animal uttered this hateful name with an emphasis that almost proved the death of him); and then, ah, then-umgh-won't I just disagree with them!'

FRENCH CRITICISM ON SHAKSPEARE. THE first attempts one nation makes to understand another are generally of a curious character: only the more salient points, the angularities and apparent eccentricities, will be attended to at firstthose things which, taken by themselves, are most likely to be provocative only of laughter and ridicule. Men are always more easily taken by the peculiarities than by the general characteristics of their neighbours; and much more is this the case when the people are of a different nation, speak a different tongue, and have different manners, customs, institutions, and forms of government. This is admirably illustrated by the general and popular notion the English and French nations have of each other. Nothing can be more opposite to the true natures of each than this popular judgment. To Frenchmen we are in general a rough, barbarous, wife-selling, beerdrinking, and beef-eating nation; while to us the French are a light, fickle, grimacing, frog-loving, bowing, fiery, restless, volatile race. Now, both people have in a greater or less degree all these characteristics, and are what these adjectives designate; but these are not their abiding natures, the things which have made it possible for each to become the great and mighty nation it is: we must seek for these below the surface; and find out what is permanent, high, and noble in the hearts of them both before we can understand the causes of their greatness, and read the lessons of their histories aright.

It is not, however, to enter into the philosophical inquiry we write the present paper; our object is not of so large and ambitious a character; nor, if we were inclined to pursue this most interesting course, would our space permit of any analysis that would lead to a profitable result. We confine ourselves to the more pleasing process of shewing our readers what one or two of the noted living ones of France are doing to make their countrymen understand Shakspeare-a labour in which we are sure every Englishman will wish them unbounded success.

Times have changed since Voltaire called Hamlet the best of those monstrous farces they call tragedies;' and since he was astonished 'how men's minds could have been elevated so as to look at these plays with transport; and how they are still followed after in a century which has produced Addison's Cato!'

now why the publishers, in general rather timid, shewed such little eagerness in publishing the sonnets in which this fatal union had been advised, and in which Shakspeare attacked with so much audacity the celibacy commanded by the queen. It was only after the death of Elizabeth, when the terror inspired by the daughter of Henry VIII. had passed away, that the sonnets of Shakspeare found an editor. But then the high position which Southampton held, and many family considerations, would prevent them from giving to publicity without reserve, the intimate drama in which one of the first personages in England figured. To direct the attention of his contemporaries, the editor imagined the mysterious dedication in which the initials of Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, were preserved, but inverted: he did better still; he published the sonnets in premeditated disorder, which broke their logical unity, and rendered them almost incomprehensible, leaving to patient posterity the care of divining the enigma. This is the secret which we have now the indiscretion to betray.'

This theory of M. Hugo requires a new arrangement of the relation of the sonnets to each other. We shall indicate the complete change this made, when we state that the first sonnet in the French edition is the 135th of the English, and the last in the French answers to the 55th in the English.

The following one, which we copy as a specimen, is the 60th in our editions, and is represented by the 150th in the translation of

Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,

And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow,
And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

We cannot conclude this paper more appropriately than by translating the admirable words of M. Lafond, whose introduction contains some of the best things which any Frenchman has ever written upon Shakspeare. He says: 'If there be a man who has painted humanity with all the shades of passion which agitate and attract it whether for good or evil, it is indeed Shakspeare. He is the confessor of human society. Love, jealousy, friendship, hatred, cold policy, ambi. tion, the intoxication of power, the baseness of the courtier, envy, grandeur of soul, the ignorance of the masses, and their inconstant caprices-whatever has made the heart of man beat in all times, unfolds

CHAPTER XLVII.-THE CAPTIVE.

LATE as was the hour, I determined to visit the captive before going to rest. My design would not admit of delay; besides, I had a suspicion that, before another day passed, my own liberty might be curtailed. Two duels in one day-two antagonists wounded, and both friends to the commander-in-chief

myself comparatively friendless-it was hardly probable I should escape scot-free.' Arrest I expected as certain-perhaps a trial by court-martial, with a fair chance of being cashiered the service.

Despite my lukewarmness in the cause in which we had become engaged, I could not contemplate this result without uneasiness. Little did I care for my commission: I could live without it; but whether right or wrong, few men are indifferent to the censure of their fellows, and no man likes to bear the brand of official disgrace. Reckless as one may be of self, kindred and family have a concern in the matter not to be lightly ignored.

Gallagher's views were different.

'Let them arrist and cashear, an' be hanged! What need you care? Divil a bit, my boy. Sowl, man, if I were in your boots, with a fine plantation and a whole regiment of black nagers, I'd snap my fingers Be St Pathrick! that's what I'd do.' at the sarvice, and go to raisin' shugar and tobaccay.

and, in no very joyous mood, I walked towards the My friend's consolatory speech failed to cheer me; quarters of the captive, to add still further to my chances of cashierment.'

Like an eagle freshly caught and caged-like a panther in a pentrap-furious, restless, at intervals uttering words of wild menace, I found the young chief of the Baton Rouge.

The apartment was quite dark; there was no window to admit even the gray lustre of the night; and the corporal who guided me in carried neither torch nor candle. He went back to the guard-house to procure one, leaving me in darkness.

I heard the footfall of a man. It was the sound of a moccasined foot, and soft as the tread of a tiger; but mingling with this was the sharp clanking of a chain. I heard the breathing of one evidently in a state of excitement, and now and then an exclamation of fierce anger. Without light, I could perceive that the prisoner was pacing the apartment in rapid irregular strides. At least his limbs were free.

I had entered silently, and stood near the door. I had already ascertained that the prisoner was alone; but waited for the light before addressing him. Preoccupied as he appeared to be, I fancied that he was not conscious of my presence.

My fancy was at fault. I heard him stop suddenly in his tracks-as if turning towards me-and the next moment his voice fell upon my ear. To my surprise, it pronounced my name. He must have seen through the darkness.

'You, Randolph!' he said, in a tone that expressed reproach; 'you too in the ranks of our enemies! Armed-uniformed-equipped-ready to aid in driving us from our homes!'

'Powell!'

'Not Powell, sir; my name is Oçeola.'

'To me, still Edward Powell-the friend of my