ing tenderness which Petrarch infuses into such subjects. Bertola is too fond of universality and change. He has been a traveller, a monk, a secular priest, a professor in different universities and in different sciences, an historian, a poet, a biographer, a journalist,,an improvisatore. Bondi has also been bitten by the "estro" of sonnet; but he is more conspicuous as a painter of manners. His "conversazioni" and "alla moda" expose some genteel follies with great truth of ridicule. His "giornata villarec. cia," is diversified, not by the common expedient of episodes, but by a skilful interchange of rural description, good-natured satire, and easy philosophy. The same subject has been sung by Melli in Sicilian, which is the doric of Italian poetry and full of the ancient Theocritan dialect. Cesarotti is the only Italian now alive (I hope Caiafa will pardon the exclusion) that has shown powers equal to an original epic; but those noble powers he has wasted in stooping to paraphrase the savage nonsense of Ossian, and in working on Homer's unimprovable rhapsodies. The Iliad he pulls down and rebuilds on a plan of his own. He brings Hector into the very front, and re-moulds the morals and decoration of the poem.He retains most of the sublime that flashes through the original; but he has modernized some of its manners, given a certain relief to its simplicity, and suppressed those repetitions peculiar to Homer, and to the literature of the early ages. Parini has amused, and I hope, corrected his countrymen by the VOL. LVI. Mattina and Mezzogiorno, for the other two parts of the day he left imperfect. An original vein of irony runs through all his pictures, and brings into view most of the affections accredited in high life or in fine conversation. He lays on colour enough, yet he seldom caricatures follies beyond their natural distortion. His style is highly poetical, and, being wrought into trivial subjects, it acquires a curious charm from the contrast. He is thought inferior to Bettinelli in the structure of blank verse; but the seasoning and pungency of his themes are more relished here than the milder instruction of that venerable bard. Fantoni, better known by his Arcadian name Labindo, is in high favour as a lyric poet. This true man of fashion never tires his fancy by any work of length; he flies from subject to subject, delighted and delighting. You see Horace in every ode, Horace's modes of thinking, his variety of measures, his imagery, his transitions. Yet Labindo wants the Horatian ease; he is too studious of diction, and hazards" some taffeta phrases, silken terms precise," which remind us of our late Della Crusca jargon. Pindemonte was connected with some of our English Cruscans, but he cannot be charged with their flimsy, gauzy, glittering nonsense. He thinks, and he makes his readers think. Happy in description, sedate even in his light themes, generally melancholy and sometimes sublime, he bears a fine resemblance to our Gray, and like Gray, has written but little in a country where most poets are voluminous. 2 H Casti Casti is the profligate of genius. He rivals La Fontaine in the narrative talent, and surpasses him in obscenity. His late work, "Gli Animali parlanti," though full of philosophy and gall, must soon yield to the fate of all political poems. Its forms and its agents are tiresome. We can follow a satirical fox through a short fable, but we nauseate three volumes of allegorical brutes connected by one plot. His "novelle" are on the contrary too attractive, too excellently wicked. Such also is their reverend author. He has lived just as he wrote, has grown old in debauchery, and suffered in the cause Yet Casti is courted and caressed in the first circles of Italy; he is the arbiter of wit, and the favourite of the Fair. IMPROVVISATORI. (From the Same). Florence has been long renowned for Improvvisatori. So early as the 15th century the two blind brothers Brandolini excelled here in singing Latin extempore. The crowned and pensioned Corilla drew lately the admiration of all Italy, and Signora Fantastici is now the improvvisatrice of the day. This lady convenes at her house a crowd of admirers, whenever she chooses to be inspired. The first time I attended her accademia, a young lady of the same family and name as the great Michael Angelo began the evening by repeating some verses of her own composition. Presently La Fantastici broke out into song in the words of the motto, and astonished me by her rapidity and command of numbers, which flowed in praise of the fair poetess, and brought her poem back to our applause. Her numbers, however, flowed irregularly, still varying with the fluctation of sentiment; while her song corresponded, changing from aria to recitativo, from recitativo to a measured recitation. She went round her circle and called on each person for a theme. Seeing her busy with her fan, I proposed the Fan as a subject; and this little weapon she painted as she promised, "col pennel divino di fantasia felice." In tracing its origin she followed Pignotti, and in describing its use she acted and analyzed to us all the coquetry of the thing. She allowed herself no pause, as the moment she cooled her estro would escape. So extensive is her reading that she can challenge any theme. One morning, after other classical subjects had been sung, a Venetian count gave her the boundless field of Apollonius Rhodius, in which she displayed a minute acquaintance with all the argonautic fable. Tired at last of demi-gods, I proposed the sofa for a task, and sketched to her the introduction of Cowper's poem. She set out with his idea, but, being once entangled in the net of mythology, she soon transformed his sofa into a Cytherean couch, and brought Venus, Cupid and Mars on the scene; for such embroidery enters into the web of every improvvisatore...... Such strains pronounced and sung unmeditated, such prompt elegance," such sentiment, and imagery flowing in rich diction, in measure, in rhyme, and in music, without interruption, and on ob jects jects unforeseen, all this must evince in La Fantastici a wonderful command of powers: yet, judging from her studied and polished compositions, which are dull enough, I should suspect that this impromptu exercise seldom leads to poetical excellence. THEATRE.-ALFIERI. (From the Same.) Alfieri is, next to Dante, the Italian poet, most difficult to Italians themselves. His tragedies are too patriotic and austere for the Tuscan stage. Their construction is simple, perhaps too simple, too sparing of action and of agenīs.— Hence his heroes must often soliloquize, he must often describe what a Shakspere would represent, and this to a nation immoderately fond of picture. Every thought, indeed, is warm, proper, energetic; every word is necessary and precise; yet this very strength and compression, being new to the language and foreign to its genius, bave rendered his style inverted, broken, and obscure; full of ellipses, and elisions; speckled even to affectation with Dantesque terms; without pliancy, or flow, or variety, or ease. Yet where lives the tragic poet equal to Alfieri? Has England or France one that deserves the name? Schiller may excel him in those peals of terror which thunder through his gloomy and tempestuous scenes; but he is poorer in thought, and inferior in the mechanism of his dramas. Alfieri's conduct is more open than his works to censure. Though born in a monarchy, and living under mild princes, this count concentered in his heart all the pride, brutality, and violence of the purest aristocracies that ever raged in Genoa or Venice. Whoever was more or less than noble was the object of his hatred or his contempt. The same pen levelled his Tirannide against princes, and his Antigallican against plebeians. The patriotism which he once put on could never sit easy upon such a mind, nor fall naturally into the forms and postures of common life. He forced it on so violently, that it burst, and was thrown aside. This hatred of princes led him to dedicate his Agis to our Charles Ist. I admit the jurisdiction of posterity over the fame of dead kings. But was it manly, was it humane, to call up the shade of an accomplished prince, a prince fully as unfortunate as he was criminal, on purpose to insult him with a mockdedication? and of all Italians, did this become Alfieri, the reputed husband of that very woman whose sterility has extinguished the race of Charles? His aristocratical pride, working on a splenetic constitution, breaks out out into disgusting eccentricities, meets you at his very door, bars up all his approaches, and leaves himself in the solitude of a sultan. How unbecoming of a poet was his conduct to General Miollis, the declared friend of all poets living and dead! How often has he descended from his theatrical stateliness to the lowest scurrility! How true is his own description of himself! Or stimandomi Achille ed or Tersite. 2 H 2 LAST LAST YEARS OF DJEZZAR. (From Dr. Clarke's Travels.) In our last visit to old Djezzar, we found his health visibly on the decline; but there was nothing he seemed more anxious to conceal from the knowledge of his subjects. The well-known fable of the dying lion was constantly present to his imagination; and no one better understood its moral application. Like the generality of ancient fables, it is, in fact, strikingly applicable to the policy and manners of Eastern nations. Although the repose and stillness of his charem were better suited to the preservation of his life than the public duties of his palace, he knew too well the consequences of a rumour purporting his inability to transact the affairs of his government, and therefore more readily granted audience to persons requesting admission to his presence; continuing his usual practice of cutting watch-papers, but being Jess ostentatious of his bodily vigour, and the exhibition of his Herculean strength. We found him, as before, with his feet bare, and a bottle of water by his side, but a more than ordinary covering of turbans appeared about his head and neck. Having thanked him for the many obligations he had conferred upon us, he inquired concerning our late journey, and seemed to possess great knowledge of the country, as well as some degree of information respecting its ancient history. Adverting to the dispute which took place between the author and one of the escort in the plain of Esdraelon, (of which he had been informed) he cautioned us against the imprudence of striking an Arab, unless with power to put him instantly to death; adding, "if you had been any where but in Djezzar's dominions, and under his protection, you would not have lived to tell the story. I know the inhabitants of this country better than any man, and have long found that they are not to be governed by halves. I have been deemed severe; but I trust you have found my name respected, and even beloved, notwithstanding my severity." This last observation was strictly true ; for, in spite of all his cruelty, such was the veneration in which they held the name of Djezzar in many parts of the Holy Land, that many of the Arabs would have sacrificed their lives for him. As we were about to take leave, he acknowledged, for the first time, that he did not feel himself well, and com plained of want of sleep; asking us if we perceived any change in his health. His interpreter told us that he had never before known an instance of a similar confession; and augured, from this circumstance, that he would not long survive; which proved true, although his death did not immediately follow. His last moments were characteristic of his former life. The person whom he fixed upon for his successor, was among the number of his prisoners. Having sent for this man, he made known his intentions to him; telling him, at the same time, that he would never enjoy peaceful dominion while certain of the princes of the country existed. These men were then. 68 living as hostages in Djezzar's power. You will not like to begin your reign," said he, "by slaughtering them; I will do that business for you:" accordingly, order ing them to be brought before him, he had them all put to death in his presence. Soon afterwards he died, leaving, as he had predicted, the undisturbed possession of a very extensive territory to his successor, Ismael Pasha; described by English travellers, who have since visited Acre, as a very amiable man, and in every thing the very reverse of this Herod of his time. CHARACTER OF ALGERNON SYDNEY, (From his Life, by Mr. Meadley.) The name of Algernon Sydney has been long illustrious in the annals of his country, and revered among the friends of freedom as the champion, and martyr, of their cause. In vain have the apologists of courtly crimes endeavoured to traduce his character, and to bring public virtue into discredit, by impeaching the rectitude of his designs. Though prejudice and delusion might prevail for a moment, the atrocious calumnies were soon exposed; for the more minutely his conduct is investigated, the more free will it be found from every selfish stain. As a patriot, indeed, his character has been justly admired; but his virtues as a man have been neglected, or at least imperfectly understood. He He has generally been considered as austere in his deportment, and devoid of those amenities, which con tribute so much to the happiness of social life. He was no doubt irascible, tenacious, and impatient of contradiction or controul; but he was sincere, steady, and consistent in his attachments, and open in the avowal of his enmity or disgust.-When he wished to acquire a commanding influence, few men possessed a more insinuating address; and he enjoyed, in return, the most unbounded confidence from his friends. His letters, particularly those he wrote from Italy to his father, display a heart alive to every tender sympathy, and vibrating with the most exquisite feelings. The sweetness of nature, so much noticed in his early years, may be traced in his subsequent progress; enabling him to acquire new friends in exile; and to defy the malice of his persecutors in the closing scenes of life. His kindness to Lord Strangford and his sister shews, that amidst the tumults of civil dissension, he was not regardless of the interest of his family, or the blessings of domestic peace. And the anxiety, which he felt from the unmerited resentment of his father, was more poignant, than what arose solely from the recollection of his other misfortunes. He appears to have been subject to occasional fits of despondency, when chagrined or wearied with the difficulties to which he was exposed. Retirement and study then became the solace of his wounded mind. But, that mind soon recovering its tone and elasticity, he was hurried again to mingle in more active scenes. Hence the apparent inconsistency of his conduct, ia withdrawing himself, at times, altogether from society, and in again as |