tion, notwithstanding the painful effect of the light on my eyes, as I found myself borne towards the shore. At this moment, two heavenly creatures of female mould were approaching the shore. It is true, their dress was simple enough, and, I could not help thinking, much after the fashion that prevailed on earth. But my imagination was now aroused, perhaps running wild; my impatience, too, could be restrained no longer. "Benign beings of this new creation," I exclaimed, "deign to inform me, into what region of existence am I arrived, and by what mysterious agency have I been carried hither? for to you, no doubt, the secrets of my strange migration are known.” 66 Sir," exclaimed one of them, with an odd expression of smiling amazement, " you are at Rochester; and the steam-boat a-head of you has towed your shallop through the tunnel." I rubbed my eyes, and looked before my boat: there was the steam-boat! I began to be sensible of the ridiculous in my mistake; but, had I been in doubt, it would have been soon cleared up. Roars of laughter burst forth from the steam-boat, at my interrogatory and its response; and up started my merry companions, and the tall shock-headed engineer, to enjoy my confusion. Laugh on," said I, "in Heaven's name; but tell me, what the d- was the grim figure that vanished before me in yonder hole ?" That there figure was me, master," growled the engi neer; and when your worship tried to grabble me, I thought mayhap the best thing for both of us was, for me to spring back into the steamer again." "And the strange light ?" I added. "Oh, it was the water as made that; it was lighted by a lamp a-head of the steamer, which you couldn't see." We landed, and went into the town. It was the election, and the ceremony of chairing the successful candidate was going forward; but my spirits had been over-excited, and a reaction had taken place, which prevented me from enjoying the scene. It was not till after our second bottle, that my nerves recovered their wonted tone. [Whoever has passed through a tunnel in a vessel drawn by a steam-boat, as is done in the Rochester Canal, will perhaps agree that, under the circumstances given above, there is no great degree of exaggeration.] MY LADY'S LOVE. Soft is the down of the butterfly's wing; Bright is the glow-worm, when fairies dance; But far brighter my lady's eyne. Sweet is the covert of shaded grove; Sweet is the honey that the bee sips; Sweet is home to the thoughts of those who rove; But far sweeter my lady's lips. But wish you aught softer than her fair cheekAught brighter than her bright eyes to proveAught sweeter than her ripe lips do you seek ?— Oh, such is my lady's love! THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. (From the German of Goethe.) I. PREFACE. As we have undertaken to give a description of the Roman Carnival, we must anticipate the objection, that such a festival cannot be properly described. Shall so great a living crowd of sensual objects pass immediately under our eyes, and yet every one according to its class be looked at and distinguished? This objection would be deserving of greater consideration, if we ourselves must stand still then, to a strange spectator, who sees it for the first time, and who only can and will see it, the Romish Carnival gives neither a complete nor pleasant impression, neither delighting the eye, nor satis. fying the mind." The long, small street, in which innumerable multitudes roll to and fro, must not be overlooked; scarcely can there be discerned in the scene of bustle anything upon which the eye can seize. The motion is uniform, the noise stunning, and the end of the day unsatisfactory. But these scruples are soon removed if we declare ourselves more explicitly; and the question will be rather, whether the description itself satisfies? The Romish Carnival is a feast, which, properly speaking, is not given to the people, but which the people give themselves. The state contributes few of its preparations, few of the expenses of it. The circle of amusements is set in motion of its own accord, and the police regulate it, but with an indulgent band. Here is not a festival, which, like many of the festivals of Rome, dazzles the eyes of the spectator; here are no fireworks from the Castle of St. Angelo, which afford a sight that is of its kind overwhelming; here is uo illumination of St. Peter's and its cupola, which allures and satisfies strangers from all countries; here is no splendid procession, at the approach of which the people shall at once pray and be astonished here, rather, there is only a sign given that every one dares be as silly and noisy as he likes, and that, with the exception of striking and stabbing, every thing is permitted. The distinction between high and low appears for an instant abolished. All come together-every one puts up with what he meets with, and reciprocal impudence and freedom are balanced by a universal good humour. In these days of festivity, the Romau rejoices, even to our own time, that although the birth of Christ has been able to postpone for some weeks the feast of the Saturnalia and its privileges, it has not abolished it. We will take some pains to bring the pleasures and tumults of this day before the imaginative powers of our readers. Moreover, we flatter ourselves that we shall gratify such persons as have once been present at the Roman Carnival, and who may now divert themselves by a lively recollection of those times; as well as those to whom that journey is a pleasure still to come, and to whom these few pages may procure a survey and foretaste of an over-crowded and by rushing pleasure. At every other place it would be another feast; so that we must first of all describe the Corso. It takes its name, like many other long streets in Italian cities, from the horse races with which, at Rome, every Carnival-evening concludes, and with which, in other places, the feasts of the patron saint, or of the anniversary of the dedication of the Church, are always terminated. The street runs in a straight line from the Piazza del Popolo to the Venetian palace. It is about three thousand five hundred paces long, and for the most part enclosed with lofty stately buildings. Its breadth is not in proportion to its length, and the height of the buildings. The raised pavements for the foot-passengers take away from six to eight feet on each side: so that in the centre there remain, in most places, not more than from twelve to fourteen paces for the carriages-a breadth which, it is readily seen, will not admit of more than three abreast. The Obelisk at the Piazza del Popolo is, during the Carnival, the lowest extremity of this street-the Venetian Palace the highest. 3. PROMENADE IN THE CORSO. Upon every Sunday and festival is the Roman Corso quite alive. The noblest and richest of the Romans come here to take the air for an hour, or an hour and a half, before night, in a very numerous line; the carriages come down from the Venetian Palace, keep along the left side, pass on, if the weather is fine, to the Obelisk, out of the gate, and up the Flaminian way, oftentime to the Ponte-Molle.The early or late returning ones keep on the other side: so that the two lines of carriages pass one another in the greatest order. The ambassadors have the right to drive up and down between the two lines; and this privilege was likewise extended to The Pretender, who resided here under the name of the Duke of Albany. As soon as the night is tolled in, this order is entirely broken up; every one goes where he wishes, and endea vours to go the nearest way, oftentimes to the inconvenience of many other equipages, which, owing to the confined space, are thereby hindered and detained. This evening promenade, which is very brilliant in all the Italian cities, and is imitated in every little city, although with a very few coaches, allures a great many pedestrians to the Corso: every one comes to see, or to be seen. The Carnival, as we may soon perceive, is properly only a continuation, or rather the pitch or summit of the Sunday and feast-day pleasures; it is nothing new, nothing strange, nothing singular, but it adds itself quite naturally to the Roman habits of life. 4. CLIMATE-ECCLESIASTICAL COSTUMES. Just as little strange will it seem to us, if we now shortly see a number of masks in the open air, for we have been used throughout the whole year to look upon so many scenes of life under the serene joyful sky! At every feast, carpets hung out, flowers scattered, tapestries extended, transform the streets into spacious saloons and galleries. No bodies are borne to the grave without the masked accompanying of the brotherhood; the various monastic costumes accustom the eye to strange and remarkable figures; the whole year appears to be a carnival, and the Abbés in their black garments seem, among the other ecclesiastical masks, to represent the noble Tabarri. 5. FIRST TIME. Immediately upon the new year the theatres open, and the Carnival has its commencement. A fair one may be seen here and there in the boxes, who shows herself to the people, like an officer in his epaulets, with great self-coutentedness. The promenade in the Corso becomes more frequented; but the general expectation is directed to the last eight days. 6. PREPARATIONS FOR THE LAST DAYS. Various preparations announce to the public these paradisaical hours. The Corso, one of the few streets in Rome which are kept clean throughout the whole year, is now more carefully swept and cleansed. People are now employed to take out the fine pavements (formed from a number of small pretty pieces of Basalt, joined together), to square such as appear to be the least worn, and then to restore the wedges to their proper places. Besides this, there are other living forerunners. Every evening during Carnival concludes, as we have already observed, with a horse-race. The horses which are kept with this view are, for the most part, small; the best of them, from their foreign breed, are called "Barberi." A small horse of this sort, with his head, neck, and body completely enclosed in a white linen covering, the seams of which are covered with party-coloured ribands, is brought to the stand before the obelisk, from which he is afterwards to start. He is trained there to stand still for a long time, with his head towards the Corso, and is then led slowly through, up to the Venetian Palace, where he is fed; so that he feels interested to return his rare more quickly. When this practice is repeated by the greater part of the horses, of which there are frequently fifteen or twenty at one time, and such promenade is accompanied, as it always is, by a number of jovial lads hallooing and bawling, it gives a very good foretaste of the greater mirth and bustle which are soon to follow. Formerly, the chief families of Rome kept horses of this description in their stables, and it was considered a great honor when one of these horses carried off the prize. Bets were laid, and the victory was celebrated by a banquet. Latterly, on the contrary, this passion has much decreased, and the wish to be distinguished by their horses has descended from the higher to the middle, or rather the lower classes of the people. From those times, however, may have descended the custom which obtains, of the whole body of riders, accompa nied by trumpeters, going in these days to show the prize all round Rome, riding into the houses of the nobles, and, after a flourish of trumpets, receiving a gratuity. The prize consists of a piece of gold or silver stuð, of about two ells and a half long, and not quite an ell broad, which hangs like a flag to the end of a variegated pole, aud at the lower end of which there is the figure of a running horse embroidered across. The prize is called Palio, and, as many days as the Carnival lasts, so many of these Quasi standards are exhibited through the streets of Rome by the first-mentioned pro cession. In the meanwhile, the Corso begins to change its appear. ance; the Obelisk is now the extremity of the street.Before this, there is erected a platform, with rows of seats rising one above the other, and which look straight down! the course. In the front of the platform are placed the barriers, between which the horses are afterwards brought to the starting-place. Further, there are erected on both sides great scaffolds, which join the first houses in the Corso, and in this manner lengthen the streets in this part. On both sides of the barriers there are small, raised, and gaily decked booths, for those persons who have to regulate the starting of the horses. Up the Corso, in like manner, there are to be seen scaffolds which reach from the houses. The Square of St. Carlo, and the Column of Antonius, are separated from the streets by barriers, and every thing shows that the whole festival must and will be confined to the long and narrow Corso. Finally, the centre of the street is strewed with pozzolano, in order that the race horses may not be liable to slip upon the polished pavement. 7. SIGNAL FOR HIGH CARNIVAL. In this way is anticipation busied and kept alive, till at last a bell from the Capitol, soon after midnight, gives the signal, that all the world may make fools of themselves in the face of Heaven! In an instant the most steady Roman, who, throughout the whole year has taken care not to make the slightest false step, throws away at once his steadiness and considerate ness. The paviors, who have been clattering away till the very last moment, throw aside their tools, and cheerfully conclude their labours. All the balconies and windows are by degrees hung with carpets; upon the raised pavements, on both sides of the street, chairs are set out by the common householders; all the children are in the street, which now ceases to be a street, but resembles, rather, a large festal hall a prodigious ornamented gallery. At the same time that all the windows are hung with carpets, all the platforms are covered with old woven tapestry; the numerous chairs increase the idea of an apartment, and the propitious sky rarely reminds us that we are not under a roof. Thus, by degrees, the street appears still more domesticated, When we step out of the house, we cannot believe that we are in the open air, and among strangers, but seem rather to be in a saloon among our acquaintances. 8. THE GUARD. In the meanwhile, as the Corso becomes more alive, and here and there a Pulcinello shows himself among the many persons who are walking in their usual attire, the military assemble before the Porta del Popolo. They march along the Corso under the command of a general on horseback, in good order and new regimentals, with drums beating, and immediately occupy all the entrances to it, place a couple of sentinels at the principal places, and take upon themselves the order of the preparations. The proprietors of chairs and scaffolds now cry out lustily to the passengers-Luoghi! Luoghi! Padroni! Luoghi! (To be continued.) EPIGRAM. Our priest is wrong, so hard to labour To prove I should love John no more; But when he bids me love my neighbour, He's very right-John lives next door! But there is one, who, in the midst of sorrow, Uttered no sigh-whose eyes, undimmed by tears, Saw not the mournful pageant was before themWhose cheek, so ashy pale, and withered lips, Told of the worm within, draining his life's blood. His ear was deaf to all the sounds of woe; And when they left the tomb, and all was still, As best befits the chamber of the dead, He marked no difference.-'Twas the student youth, Whose hope and happiness in that grave were buried! Fresh-woven chaplets, of the daintiest buds Of Rue, and Pansies, blue Forget-me-notOf Rosemary, for sweet remembrance dear, With valley-lilies, beauteous as meek, And every flowret which Ianthe loved, Were, by an unseen and a liberal hand, Hung on her tomb each morning. Yet, ere a month was past, did Death himself Tell to the world who made those pure heart-offerings; (Pure, since for them can no return be made, Are tributes to the dead!) They found a corpse As cold as was the monumental stone On which 't had fallen. It was Leonardo's, Whose grief had cracked his heart-strings! THE GASCON AND THE MONKEY. In the city of Bordeaux there once lived a gentleman who had rendered himself so famous by his skill in playing at chess, that he usually went by the name of the Chevalier of the Chess-board. He had no rival in all Gascony; the most celebrated players esteemed it an honour to have disputed the victory with him, or to have obtained his approbation; all his decisions were regarded as oracles, and he could scarcely move a pawn without drawing cries of admiration from the bystanders. One day a certain Spanish Cavalier who was passing through Bordeaux, hearing of the reputation of our Chevalier, felt anxious to judge for himself. Having assisted at one of his parties, he said to the Gascon, "I am now aware that report has not exaggerated your skill I believe you to be capable even of playing with Don Gabriel de Roquas." "Who is this Don Gabriel de Roquas, whose name I never heard before?" said the Chevalier. "What!" cried the Spaniard," do you not know him? He is the most renowned player of chess in all Spain, and his residence at Cordova is the resort of the most esteemed professors of the game; none of his opponents have ever succeeded in wresting the victory from his hands, and they unanimously confess that there is no player in the world equal to Don Gabriel de Roquas.' "You inspire me with a wish to know the man nevertheless, in spite of what your Cavaliers say, I believe I should sustain the honour of the Garonne against him." After this conversation, the Chevalier of the Chess-board knew neither peace nor happiness; the idea that he had a rival, and perhaps a master, poisoned all his triumphs; the laurels of the Cordovan Miltiades would not allow our modern Themistocles to sleep. At length he determined to rid himself of this uncertainty. One fine morning he put him. self en route, and made the best of his way to Cordova.Upon his arrival at that city, he inquired for the dwelling of Don Gabriel de Roquas, which was pointed out to him. He found the great man gravely employed in playing a game at chess with his monkey. Sir," said the French gentleman, "attracted by the reputation of your excellence, I have come to see if I may not be deemed worthy of being your antago. nist. I have played with some credit at Bordeaux, and may even say, there are none in that town who can dispute the victory with me."-" Come, Sir," replied the noble cavalier, smiling," sit down, and I will endeavour to deserve the honour you have done me." Our two champions took their seats immediately at the chess-board, and commenced their game. After the fifth or sixth move had been made, however, Don Gabriel, jumping up briskly, addressed the Frenchman: "Sir," said he, "it is quite useless to proceed, you are no match for me; but you may play with my monkey, if you like."-" Play with your monkey" cried the Gascon; "do you mean to insult me, Don Gabriel?"-" By no means," replied the Spaniard; my monkey is intimately acquainted with the principles of chess, and so far from considering it absurd to set you at play together, I would, to speak candidly, be inclined to bet upon the monkey." ."-"Since you desire it, Sir," said the other, "I will agree to your proposition; were it only for the novelty of the thing, I should like to see if this animal can contest the game with me." 66 The monkey sat down in Don Gabriel's place, and continuing the game where that gentleman had left off, gave his adversary check-mate in less than ten moves! In the first transports of his anger, the Gascon rushed upon the poor ape, and, with a single blow of his fist, cast it into the centre of the apartment. The Spaniard reproached him in lively terms for his brutality. Our hero was convinced of his folly, and only requested his revenge. 66 I very much doubt," replied Don Gabriel, "whether my monkey will play another game with you, after the treatment he has experienced." At length, by dint of caresses and assurances that it had nothing to fear, the creature suffered itself to be led back to the chess-board, and though with an air of suspicion and distrust, commenced a second game. After a few apparently unimportant moves, it advanced a pawn, and, starting up suddenly, to the surprise of the Gascon, who could not conceive the cause of so quick a retreat, sprang to the top of the book-case. "Do you not perceive," said Don Gabriel, at length, "that there remain for you but two moves previously to receiving check-mate from my monkey? Be not, then, surprised at his dreading the consequences of such a victory!" Our gentleman now finding it useless to prolong his stay at Cordova, sorrowfully took the road to the Garonne; and when, on his return, they demanded of him if he had beaten Don Gabriel de Roquas, "Alas!" replied he, "I was not able to beat his monkey!” LINES SENT TO A LADY WITH A PAIR OF PEARL EAR-RINGS. Happy the man in music nursed, Towards Phoebus' temple beckoned; He lets some fair one sing the first, And sings at sight the second! Not mine that tuneful height to gain; And yet, to stem disasterMethought I might by care and pain Some few duettos master. Kate, fair preceptress, taught me well, A second to Mozart's Crudel, Pushed on by her assiduous aid, In strains not much like Banti, Through" Con un aria" next I strayed, Composed by Fioravanti. Thus taught my tuneful part to bear By Kate, assiduous girl, In courtesy I sent a pair Of ear-rings decked with pearl. My Mercury to Kate's abode "A boon like this, dear Sir, appears The best yon can bestow; "Tis fit you decorate my earsYou bored them long ago!" M. The Smith of Apolda was seated one eve At the front of the smithy door, New strength from the evening breeze to receive, When the toil of the day was o'er; And then ungrudgingly would he relieve Any traveller passing poor. The Smith of Apolda looked down the road, Whose rags and whose leanness plainly shewed And ne'er was more starveling jackass bestrode To the Smith of Apolda the beggar drew near, "Take pity, good Smith, on my poor beast here, Then the Smith of Apolda, though 'twas not his use Uprose from his bench, his buff-jerkin let loose, "Thou Smith of Apolda, a goodly deed In return for the kindness thou shalt be freed If the wishes three, which to thee ale decreed, The Smith of Apolda looked up aghast Who, in beggarman's garb, that way had passed, And mute was the Smith for awhile, but at last He asked strange favours, three. First the Smith of Apolda an oath rapped out- "Then grant me," he cried, "spite of riot and rout, From my chair and my apple tree, And my wallet of hide, so tough and so stout, "Thou Smith of Apolda, I've pledged my word And I may not say thee, nay, Though grieved at the blasphemous oath I heard, And the trifles for which you pray But you've ask'd, and your prayer must not be deferred, From the Smith of Apolda the beggarman turned, "I'fegs," quoth the Smith," but it's cheaply earned, If all the old chap says be true!" And to find out that fact, oh, his heart how it burned! But he'd not long to wait till he knew. FYTTE THE THIRD. The Smith of A polda uprose one morn With a troubled and trembling heart; Well he knew that that day ten years were gone, Since he saw the Fiend Rider depart, And he feared lest the knight of the hoof and the horn Should return, too deep for his art. But the Smith of Apolda worked till the sun Then the Smith of Apolda, he spoke his guest fair, And asked him " to taste of his humble fare, But that Smith of Apolda had gained the day, |