This plan was carried into execution; and a few hours after the Conte Taglioni arrived in Venice, he set sail for Zante, in a vessel belonging to a merchant, a friend of the Conte Altiero, where he remained until the cavaliere recovered. When he returned to Venice, he was received by Altiero with open arms, and they became inseparable friends-always frequenting the same places of amusement -no day passed but they spent the greater part of it together. Taglioni almost lived at the Palazzo Altiero-but their friendship was put to a test it could not stand.

One evening, Altiero proposed that they should go to the Villa Modena, the residence of his sister, Donna Vittoria, who was just married to Don Sebastian d' Osima, and whose conversazione was tutto il modo. When they entered the rooms, they found a very large party assembled, and the sposa so surrounded by adulatcri and cavalieri, that they could not approach; so they sauntered through the rooms, admiring the different beauties, and criticising the decorations, which were very splenaid-until they came to the library. The door being open, they entered, without disturbing a female of singular beauty, who was leaning in a graceful attitude against a pedestal that supported a superb vase, contemplating an alto-relievo of beautiful workmanship, representing Venus attended by the Graces: they stopped and gazed in silence-in a few minutes, she turned to quit the library, and perceiving them, she blushed deeply. They apologized for disturbing her, and entered into conversation on sculpture, which insensibly led to painting and poetry; and on all those subjects they found her well informed, and possessing un ottimo gusto. The hours flew on the wings of a zephyr; it was with regret they took leave, and, in doing so, Altiero inquired of his sister who the bella signorina was.

"Her name is Giulia di Mezo," replied Donna Vittoria; "but I will tell more of her to-morrow morning; when, if you are not engaged, you may take la cioccolato with me.

The next morning, the friends were punctual to their appointment, and reminded Donna Victoria of her promise. "So it is to your curiosity about my friend, that I am indebted for your company," ," said Donna Vittoria, smiling; " but I will gratify you,-know then, signore, that Giulia's father was distantly related to Don Sebastiano, and died in her infancy, leaving her mother a small estate near Bologna, where she resided in perfect retirement, devoting herself to the education of her daughter. Two years

ago, she died leaving Giulia to the care of a French gentleman, a distant relation of her own, named Renguel, and Don Sebastiano; and they are the only relatons she possesses; since her mother's death, Giulia has contantly resided with M. Renguel-but my cara sposa expressing a wish to show her some attention, I have invited her here to enjoy the festivities of the approaching carnovale." When she had finished, the gentlemen thanked her, and were rapturous in their praises of Giulia.

"Nothing can exceed her beauty and elegance," said Tagliano.

"The graces of her person cannot be compared to the charms of her conversation," said Altiero.

"If you do not take care, she will steal both your hearts," said Donna Vittoria, " and that would be a pity, for she can have but one; besides, if you become rivals, it might cause a great deal of mischief." "None at all," replied Altiero; "for we can both woo her; and the one that wins can wear the beauteous rose, and the other must wear the willow as gracefully as he can, what say you, Signor Conte? Will you enter the lists with me? fer vi giuro per Venere to_be her champion?"

"O, certainly, I will contend with you for the smiles of beauty," replied Taglioni.

In the evening they met Donna Vittoria's party at a ball; Giulia danced with both, but most frequently with the Conte Altiero. When she rested, Altiero danced no more; he handed her limonata; and though Taglioni sat next her, and conversed with her, she always smiled sweetly when Altiero addressed her, and coincided in his remarks. To him it was one of the happiest evenings of his life: to Taglioni it was one of jealous excitation; for when he danced with Giulia, he grieved to think she would next dance with Altiero. When he danced with another, he constantly watched them, with jealous eyes: when he talked to her, she appeared absent; but when Altiero approached, she conversed with animation; and as they walked home together, Altiero talked unceasingly of Giulia. At parting, Taglioni took leave of Altiero with great ceremony, and from that evening they seldom met but in the presence of Giulia.

Altiero almost lived at the Villa Modena, and paid his attenzione with such success, that on offering his hand and heart, he was unhesitatingly accepted; the time that intervened between his acceptance, and the day fixed for his nozze, passed so delightfully in the society of his bellissima sposa, that he thought not of his friends coldness. But a circumstance occurred to damp his joy.

The evening previous to the day that was to unite him to Giulia for ever, he spent at the Villa Modena. After supper he left, to return to his Palazzo; but he had not proceeded many yards, when he passed a figure muffled in a cloak: he felt a presentiment that he was a bravo, in a few minutes he was confirmed in his opinion, for he heard footsteps follow his; he walked quicker, the footsteps pursued his; he turned round, the figure was behind him with a stiletto upraised. Altiero perceived his intention, and stepping aside received in his shoulder the wound intended for his heart. Enraged, though in some measure prepared for the attack, Altiero sprung instantly on the villain; he struggled, but Altiero was young and powerful, and held him firmly in his grasp. Fortunately two of Don Sebastiano's servants, who had been revelling with the servants at the Palazzo, came up, secured the wretch, and dragged him to the Villa.

When Altiero's wound was dressed, which was merely a slight one, he ordered the bravo to be brought before him, and asked him who instigated him to the deed; "for," said he, "I cannot think you have any cause for enmity to me."

"None at all," replied the bravo; "and if you will pledge your honour that I shall be at liberty when I confess who was my employer, I will promise you shall be free from injury, either from my self or comrades; and Ugo Rietto, though a bravo, never broke his word, no, I only do for pay those deeds that members of civilized society plan, but have not the courage to execute. I am proud that I am an outcast from that civilized society; my associates are bound only by the ties of honour. What, though we ease the rich of a little of their superfluous wealth,-do not all mankind prey on one another?And," continued he, "should you give me up to what is called justice, and I die, 'you will be in ignorance of your enemy, and he can employ another to finish the work at which I bungled."

Altiero, after a moment's reflection, said, "Name my enemy, and you are

free."

"He is your bosom friend, the Conte Taglioni."

"By heavens, 'tis false," said Altiero. "Oh, say not so," said Giulia, who was present, "I fear it is too true; for," whispered she, "when he urged his suit, and found he could not prevail, he muttered words of dreadful import; but I

" Cospetto

When Taglioni entered, and saw the bravo, and Altiero seated on a sofa, beside Giulia, he turned pale. del diavolo! Maledizione! Inferno," he exclaimed, then staggered, and would have fallen, but for the bravo, who supported him. On receiving Don Sebastiano's message, he thought that the deed was done, but abstained from asking the page any questions, thinking it might raise suspicions, and was exulting in the thought that he should possess Giulia.

"I do not wonder at your emotion," said Altiero, "doubtless your disappointment is extreme, in finding the stiletto you employed has not pierced the heart that beat with the warmest friendship for you. But I will cast away the snake I have fostered in my bosom. Go, base ingrate and false friend-I shew you the same mercy that I do the bravo, though, by Heaven, you are not half so worthy of it. All I ask in return is, that you will never inhabit Venice at the same time as myself, least my eyes should be blighted by the sight of you."

It was the last time that Altiero and Taglioni ever met. The lovely Giulia became the Contessa Altiero, and a few years afterwards the Conte Taglioni was killed in a duello, occasioned by a quarrel at a gambling house.

ANGIOLINA.

THE IMPROVISATORI.
(For the Olio.)

In a late tour, which I made through Italy, I met with a singular adventure at a weddingparty, to which I had been invited. We were seated in the hall, where the song, the dance, and wine, were exhilarating the hearts of the company; when it was announced, that an Improvisatori, or person who repeats, or rather sings poetry extempore, wished to be admitted. His request was immediately complied with, and when he entered, I beheld one of the most interesting beings that I ever looked on. His figure was above the middle stature, with a commanding and majestic deportment; his hair was raven black, and hung in wild and natural ringlets over his pale expansive forehead; and in his eye there dwelt a noble expressive grandeur, that made each person shrink beneath its falcon glance. He immediately began to recite, with the most graceful gesticulation, and the sweetest voice imaginable, the following poem, which I have rendered into English; but the translation

But far from festive board and hall,
Where, in the sickening torches glare,
Proud beauty held her carnival,
With diamonds dazzling in her hair,
Reflecting back the flickering light,
Giving false colour to her cheek,
Making her eye more wildly bright,
And giving every luscious streak
A warmer tint, a ruddier glow.
False as the sunshine on her brow,-
I joyed in nature's solitude,
Where on my thoughts none might intrude;
I hid me in the woodland dell,
By mountain-stream and rocky fell,
Holding communion with the streams,

And tuned my mountain-harp to song; And thought in my bright waking dreams, Of passionate feelings hidden long Within my heart, till waked to life

By my dark bosom's inward strife!

But to my tale.-'Twas on a night
When all the stars of heaven were bright,
And o'er the starlit waters clear
Came the sweet song of gondolier;
I heard a plash upon the lake,
Like that a single oar might make;
And saw a skiff steal swift along, -
Its little sails were snowy white,
As on them fell the clear moonlight,
And floating o'er the silvery tide,
Music's soft echoes faintly died ;-
I heard him sing this song, which I
Have treasur'd in my memory.

"Awake! sweet love, awake! awake!
The moon has silvered o'er the lake,
And gleams upon each trelliced bower
The citron's bloom, and orange flower.
The stars have gemmed the sapphire sky,
As bright as lovely woman's eye,
Then, Lillah, love, awake! awake!
And come with me across the lake.

"The night-dews glisten on the hill,
The moon-beams gem the sparkling rill,
All fair on earth-all pure above,-
Made pure and fair for thee, sweet love!
But, oh, one winning smile of thine,
Is holier far, sweet lady mine!
Then Lillah, love, awake! awake!
And come with me across the lake."

I listened as the echoes died
Along the silvery silent tide,
And as the castle wall he neared,
His skiff beneath a turret steered;
And shining in the clear moonlight,
A hand was waved, so small and white,
And music's tones came breathing low,
With such a soft melodious flow,
Its tones and words I dare not try
With my rude mountain minstrelsy.
Howe'er, I watched, and she descended,

Until she reach'd her lover's boat;
And he from the night-dews defended
Her fair, frail form with his capote.
Short time was there for vow or kiss,
There would be better time than this;
Both seated-with his oars he plied,
And dashed the feathery foam aside !

Another boat was sailing now,
And judging from the pointing prow,
Their course the same. The rowers, two,

Were gaining fast at every stroke;
When o'er the waters, darkly blue,
A long, wild cry of anguish broke.
The boat was now within a length,
The rowers pulled with all their strength,

HINCHINBROOK HOUSE, the seat of the Earls of Sandwich, stands on elevated ground, and commands beautiful and extensive views of the surrounding country. In the valley immediately beneath it, winding its gentle course along, and fertilizing the rich and varied landscape through which it flows, is seen the river Ouse, to whose willowed banks and quiet murmuring many a youthful poet has dedicated the first offerings of his muse. On the spot on which the house now stands, there was formerly a Benedictine Nunnery, sacred to St. James, which was built, as Leland informs us, by William the Conqueror, immediately after the destruction of that at Eltesley, in Cambridgeshire. The house itself is an irregular building, the greater part of which was built by the Cromwells in the reign of Elizabeth; it is partly of brick and partly of stone, and on a broken cornice of the latter material, belonging to the small portion which remains of the ancient Nunnery, there is the date 1437. Queen Elizabeth, King James I. and Charles I. were severally entertained here, with the most sumptuous magnificence; but the proprietor, Sir Oliver Cromwell, uncle and godfather to the Protector, by too lavish an expenditure, ruined his fortune, and was obliged eventually to sell the house, and all the estates, to Sir Sydney Montague, from whom the Earls of Sandwich are descended.

The large bow window, which is in the east front, and looks into the pleasure garden, was erected by Sir Oliver Cromwell, on the occasion of the visit of King James I. on his accession to the throne, by which he was to unite England and Scotland, and be the common monarch of both. Sir Oliver gave such an entertainment at this time as had never before been given to a sovereign by a subject; and the king was so pleased with it, that he complimented him by saying, in his broad Scottish dialect:-" Morry, mon, thou hast treated me better than ony ane sin' I left Edinbro'."

In the stone work on the outside of the window there is the date 1602, over which are the Royal Arms of Tudor.

The offices on the north side are the only remains of the Nunnery, that which

was the common room serving now as the servants' kitchen, and the cells, of which there are eight or nine, being appropriated as sleeping rooms for the servants of the establishment; they are small and cheerless, built of stone, and ranged on either side of a gallery, and each lighted by a small window. The flooring of all appears to be of a composition resembling

stone.

I shall pass over the other portions of this building, which will be found minutely described in the histories of the county, and go at once to the library, in which the adventure I am about to describe occurred. It contains a small but neat collection of good authors; with the portraits of General Ireton, in a red dress and body armour, with a sash over it— his sleeves slashed, his hair dark, and his countenance teeming with expression : Richard Cromwell, Esq. father to Oliver, in the solemn dress of the period in which he lived; and Prince Rupert, in an antique dress. The furniture is of an ancient character, to accord with the age in which the fabric was built, and rich tapestry hangings adorn the apartment, hanging in large and cumbrous folds over the wainscoting of oak, with which it is lined. It is lighted by a large window, strongly protected by bars of iron on the outside, and aired by a constant fire, in a richly ornamented fire-place; on either side of which is an elaborately worked bell-pull, with ponderous tassels attached. The flooring is considerably raised above the passage which leads to it, and which forms the hall or entrance to the various apartments of the house-the library being at one end, and the kitchen at the other. The reason that the library floor is elevated is, that while digging some years ago at the spot which is now the entrance, the bones of two human beings were discovered, in a perfect state, in two stone coffins, and in order that the relics might not be disturbed or removed from the spot where they were found, to the immortal honour of the late Earl's father, he had them deposited where they now are, the flooring raised two steps, and the bones now lie, to the terror of the timid and superstitious, in quiet repose, immediately beneath them.

Thus much for the historical part of my tale, now for the story itself.

During the period of the winter months, the Earl of Sandwich resided generally in town, leaving Hinchinbrook to the sole care of two domestics, the housekeeper, an elderly lady, and a young man, whose situation was that of gardener to his Lordship. The youth, being of studious habits, was left in charge of the library, in which

he passed many a dull winter's evening; and one night, while busily engaged in perusing an old record, relating to the origin of the Sandwich family-seated before a blazing fire, which shed a bright and glowing light throughout the apartment-his faithful dog, Tray, reclining on the hearth-rug before it, and the flame of his lamp flickering in its socket, he naturally turned his thoughts from what the house then was, to what it had been in days gone by, and fancied he heard the voices of the nuns chaunting their hymn at the hour of vespers, or singing a requiem for the repose of some departed spirit: again he imagined that he saw them in their cells at their devotions, or joining together at the shrine of their saint, beseeching mercy for their sins and the sins of their pious sisterhood; then in slow and solemn march returning from their holy tabernacle, to repose on their pallets, and dream of the heaven to which their prayers had been directed their final overthrow the destruction of their quiet abode, and the desolation that subsequently became their heritage. Of the scenes of blood that had depopulated the country, upon and near this spot, during the civil wars, when Charles I. and his army succumbed to the power of Cromwell'and his myrmidons-the many owners of the mansion that had succeeded each other, and had gone to the grave, and mingled their dust with the dust of ages. With this train of feeling operating upon a strong mind, it was not possible that the bones which lay slumbering beneath the steps of the library door should not have their share in completing the delusion of the moment. How came they there? and to what fatality was their end to be attributed? naturally suggested itself. It was now almost midnight; the fire had dwindled down to its last glow, dying away, and brightening up, alternately darkening and illumining the pictures, that seemed frowning and ready to start from the canvass. The wind, which had been rather violent during the evening, had now increased to almost a hurricane, beating upon the house in sudden gusts, and occasionally dashing the rain against the window. The dog grew restless, got up, shook himself, turned round and round, and then lay down again, with his nose resting on the foot of his master, on whom he now and then cast a sly look, wagged his ears and tail, stretched his jaws and closed his eyes, with a kind of indistinct growl.

Here my hero was suddenly startled by seeing one of the bell-pulls move; it was near midnight; nothing to be heard, but the hoarse breathing of the

rough wind without, and the faint crack ling noise among the expiring embers of the grate. He fixed his eyes in fear on the bell rope, when, with a sudden jerk, it bounced to the ceiling, and falling heavily, swung to and fro, like the pendulum of a clock, and every bell in the house was instantly in motion, and such a ringing was never heard before. The dog sprang upon his feet, and added his voice as an accompaniment to the din that prevailed throughout the building. The moment his master recovered in a slight degree from his alarm, but still trembling in every limb, Tray rushed to the door, and howled so hideously, that he increased the terror of his master to such a degree, that he almost lost his senses.

In this dilemma what was to be done? Egress at the window was out of the question, because, independent of its being too high for a leap, it was strongly barred; the chimney was protected with a grating as well, and the doorway was immediately over the stone coffins, in which the mouldering remains of two departed beings were deposited! He thought, however, that he had better risk his life at once by making for the door, than remain where he was and be frightened to death with the horrors and apprehensions of his situation. He seized the light with a trembling hand, and looking around him with the utmost caution, advanced with a hesitating step towards the door; the instant he opened it, the light was extinguished! and the dog, who had been scratching and barking there all the time, darted down the passage with the speed of thought, while his master stood quivering with alarm, on the very threshold-not daring to stir one inch. To call for help. was of no use whatever; the only being in the house was the housekeeper, and she was deaf. The dog, meanwhile, kept up a pursuit to and fro the passage; he at last appeared to be worrying something, and the next moment he cowered down before his master's feet, before which he dropt, with a wag of his tail and a loud bark of joy-a dead pigeon! The youth took it up, and made his way with rapidity to the kitchen, with the innocent cause of his terror in his hand; but he had no sooner caught the eye of the housekeeper, who was startled from a short nap by his entrance, with his face pale, haggard, and ghastly, than she gave a loud shriek, but soon recovered her self-possession, when she heard what had befallen him, and the cause thereof; and then she laughed with joy to think the affair was no worse; and glad enough both were, that the barred window had been the means of solving a mystery, which, in after time (unless ex