ADDITIONAL NOTES. Page 189, line 12. 'Tis not a tale that every hour brings with it. INES of eleven syllables occur almost in every page of Milton; but though they are not unpleasing, they ought not to be admitted into heroic poetry; since the narrow limits of our language allow us no other distinction of epic and tragic measures." JOHNSON. It is remarkable that He used them most at last. In the "Paradise Regained" they occur oftener than in the "Paradise Lost" in the proportion of ten to one; and let it be remembered that they supply us with another close, another cadence; that they add, as it were, a string to the instrument; and, by enabling the Poet to relax at pleasure, to rise and fall with his subject, contribute what is most wanted, compass, variety. Shakespeare seems to have delighted in them, and in some of his soliloquies has used them four and five times in succession; an example I have not followed in mine. As in the following instance, where the subject is solemn beyond all others. "To be, or not to be," &c. They come nearest to the flow of an unstudied eloquence, and should therefore be used in the drama; but why exclusively? Horace, as we learn from himself, admitted the Musa Pedestris in his happiest hours, in those when he was most at his ease; and we cannot regret her visits. To her we are indebted for more than half he has left us; nor was she ever at his elbow in greater dishabille, than when he wrote the celebrated "Journey to Brundusium." Page 190, line 20. That winds beside the mirror of all beauty. The following lines were written on the spot, and may serve perhaps to recall to some of my readers what they have seen in this enchanting country. "I love to watch in silence till the Sun Sets; and Mont Blanc, arrayed in crimson and gold, That shadow, though it comes through pathless tracts, As though they were not and had never been!" Page 191, line 4. never to be named, See the "Odyssey," lib. xix. v. 597, and lib. xxiii. v. 19. Page 191, line 1. St. Bruno's once The Grande Chartreuse. It was indebted for its foundation to a miracle; as every guest may learn there from a little book that lies on the table in his cell, the cell allotted to him by the fathers. "In this year the Canon died, and, as all believed, in the odour of sanctity: for who in his life had been so holy, in his death so happy? But how false are the judgments of men! For when the hour of his funeral had arrived, when the mourners had entered the church, the bearers set down the bier, and every voice was lifted up in the Miserere, suddenly, and as none knew how, the lights were extinguished, the anthem stopt! A darkness succeeded, a silence as of the grave; and these words came in sorrowful accents from the lips of the dead. I am summoned before a Just God! --A Just God judgeth me! --- I am condemned by a Just God!"" "In the church," says the legend, "there stood a young man with his hands clasped in prayer, who from that time resolved to withdraw into the desert. It was he whom we now invoke as St. Bruno." Page 198, line 8. Glided along those aisles interminable, Ils ont la même longueur que l'église de Saint-Pierre de Rome, et ils renferment quatre cents cellules. Page 198, line 12. that house so rich of old, So courteous, The words of Ariosto. "una badia Ricca-e cortesa a chiunque vi venia.” Page 199, line 2. He was nor dull nor contradictory, Not that I felt the confidence of Erasmus, when, on his way from Paris to Turin, he encountered the dangers of Mont Cenis in 1507; when, regardless of torrent and precipice, he versified as he went; composing a poem on horseback,' and writing it down at intervals as he sat in the saddle2-an example, I imagine, followed by few. Much indeed of "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," as the Author assured me, was conceived and executed in like manner on his journey through Greece; but the work was performed in less unfavourable circumstances; for, if his fits of inspiration were stronger, he travelled on surer ground. Page 201, line 12. And gathered from above, below, around, The Author of "Lalla Rookh," a Poet of such singular felicity as to give a lustre to all he touches, has written a song on this subject, called the Crystal-hunters. Page 207, line 16. every look Went to the heart, for from the heart it came, When may not our minds be said to stream into each other, for how much by the light of the countenance comes from the child to the mother before he has the gift of speech; 1 "Carmen equestre, vel potius Alpestre."-ERASMUS. Open thy secret heart and tell us all, Then should we hear thee with a sigh confess, MARCO GRIFFONI. AR is a game at which all are sure to lose, sooner or later, play they how they will; yet every nation has delighted in war, and none more in their day than the little republic of Genoa, whose galleys, while she had any, were always burning and sinking those of the Pisans, the Venetians, the Greeks, or the Turks; Christian and Infidel alike to her. But experience, when dearly bought, is seldom thrown away altogether. A moment of sober reflection came at last; and after a victory, the most splendid and ruinous of any in her annals, she resolved from that day and for ever to live at peace with all mankind; having in her long career acquired nothing but glory and a tax on every article of life. Peace came, but with none of its blessings. No stir in the harbour, no merchandise in the mart or on the quay; no song as the shuttle was thrown 'Alluding to the Palace which he built afterwards, and in which he twice entertained the Emperor Charles the Fifth. It is the most magnificent edifice on the bay of Genoa. 2 Fiesco. For an account of his Conspiracy, see Robertson's "History of Charles the Fifth." or the ploughshare broke the furrow. The frenzy had left a languor more alarming than itself. Yet the burden must be borne, the taxes be gathered; and, year after year, they lay like a curse on the land, the prospect on every side growing darker and darker, till an old man entered the senatehouse on his crutches and all was changed. Marco Griffoni was the last of an ancient family, a family of royal merchants; and the richest citizen in Genoa, perhaps in Europe. His parents dying while yet he lay in the cradle, his wealth had accumulated from the year of his birth; and so noble a use did he make of it when he arrived at manhood, that wherever he went, he was followed by the blessings of the people. He would often say, "I hold it only in trust for others; " but Genoa was then at her old amusement, and the work grew on his hands. Strong as he was, the evil he had to struggle with was stronger than he. His cheerfulness, his alacrity left him; and, having lifted up his voice for Peace, he withdrew at once from the sphere of life he had moved in-to become, as it were, another man. From that time and for full fifty years he was to be seen sitting, like one of the founders of his House, at his desk among his money-bags, in a narrow street near the Porto Franco; and he, who in a famine had filled the granaries of the State, sending to Sicily and even to Egypt, now lived only as for his heirs, though there were none to inherit; giving no longer to any -but lending to all-to the rich on their bonds and the poor on their pledges; lending at the highest rate, and exacting with the utmost rigour. No longer relieving the miserable, he sought only to enrich himself by their misery; and there he sate in his gown of frieze, till every |