taking his revenge on Agatha for slighting his offers; and, though he daringly attempted to put his resolve in execution, was signally and fatally repulsed. One night, after she had retired to rest, she was awoke soon after midnight by the noise of some one entering her chamber window. She arose, and beheld, by the light of the moon, the most daring of her discarded lovers, who had already made good his entrance. Having only a single moment to decide how she could best defend her menaced honour, she seized a weapon which fortunately lay near her, and smote the youth so severely on the head that he immediately fell to the ground, at the very moment he fancied he was about to succeed in his attempt. His cries drawing the officers of justice to the spot, a strict search took place, during which the unfortunate Antonio, being the only person found near, was forthwith taken up on suspicion of having slain his rival, and thrown into the public prison. We must now explain to the reader how it happened that Antonio was found near Agatha's dwelling, when every one supposed him to be at Perugia. Becoming impatient by his painful separation from his beloved wife, he resolved upon bearing the anger of his relations, and returned to Florence. It unluckily happened that just as he was approaching her residence, the cries of the wounded Ippolito took place, and he was immediately taken into custody. Fearful only of casting the least imputation upon the reputation of her he loved, he at once admitted the charge of having perpetrated the deed, for which he was adjudged to suffer death.

Tidings of the unhappy result of this affair coming the ensuing day to the ears of his wife, she hesitated not an instant in what way to act. Heedless of the consequences, she set out for the palace of the duke, where, half wild with grief and terror at the idea of her husband having already suffered, she became clamorous for an audience, the people on all sides making way for her, until she was at length stopped by the officer upon guard at the ducal gates. Her passionate appeals for admittance were here irresistible, and she was conducted, in a

short time, into the audience chamber, before the duke and his whole court. But regardless of surrounding objects, she singled out him of whom she was in search; and, throwing herself at his feet in all the sweet disorder of distressed beauty, which heightened rather than diminished her charms, she besought his clemency and pity in the following terms:- Heaven, that has given me access to your excellency, will, I fervently trust, incline your heart also to listen to me, to justice, and to truth. Let not the innocent, my honoured lord, suffer for the guilty; the cause for which I appear before you will not permit me to be longer silent. Believe me, then, when I say that the prisoner Antonio and my unhappy self have been long fervently attached to each other, and were secretly united, though at the expense of a cruel separation, caused by fear of the anger of the parents of Antonio; when the deceased youth, for whose death he has been made responsible, urged by envy and disappointment, had the shameless audacity to make attempts upon my honour, by stealing his way into my chamber at night. By some strange fatality, at the same hour came my husband, whom I supposed at Perugia; and, no person being found near but himself, was suspected of being guilty of the deed-with what justice I shall presently leave you to decide. On the night in question, shortly after retiring to rest, I was suddenly startled out of my slumbers, by hearing the sash of my window thrown open, and beheld with terror the deceased, who had scaled the walls, and invaded the sanctuary of my rest. Impelled at once by fear and indignation, I snatched a sword which lay near me, and struck the invader of my honour with the utmost strength I could command. He fell to the ground, and, by the just award of Heaven, rather than by any power of mine, he shortly afterwards expired. In the tumult thus caused, the captain of the band, with his followers, marched towards the spot. What was my surprise and horror, then, to hear this very morning that my beloved and innocent Antonio had been just seized,

convicted, and lay under sentence of death, preferring, rather to suffer every thing than even to betray my name. Deserted and alone, to whom could I turn for advice and aid-whither, I repeated in my despair-but to the source of honour and justice itself, at the feet of our most noble and righteous duke?' Here, no longer able to control her emotions, the lovely Agatha ceased to speak, but not to weep, until the duke, kindly raising her up, assured her she had no cause for such excessive sorrow, as far as lay in his power to remove it; declaring, at the same time, that Antonio was pardoned. You are both free,' rejoined the duke, with one of his most benevolent smiles, 'to be as happy as you please; and, as far as my influence with both your parents can be supposed to be of any avail.' And the noble duke performed what he had thus promised; for he himself saw and reconciled the rival families; and the beautiful Agatha and happy Antonio long continued two of the brightest ornaments of the fair city of Florence. ANSELM.

SONG.

THE lady from her lattice height

Saw stealing through the shades of night
Her own lov'd one;

She heard upon the breeze afar
The tinkling of his soft guitar-
Its well-known tone.

But there has been a jealous eye,
And passion's ire hath utter'd high
Its threat of blood;

Yet still towards the welcome shore
The gondola comes lightly o'er
The silver flood.

But see, upon the dusky deep,
With adder's hate, and silence, creep,

The hostile bark;

There is a shout-the lay is still,

And all, like that cold wave, is chill,

And calm, and dark.

J. D. NEWMAN.

THE ANNUALS.

THE merit of these excellent and interesting publications is so universally acknowledged that one feels it is almost superfluous to say a word about them. They are in every point of view amusing and delightful; the engravings of each of them are without exception of the first order, and are triumphant proofs of the rapid improvement which has taken place among engravers in our own time. The whole world cannot surpass them in beauty and delicacy of execution. Of all these the plates which are published with the Keepsake' are decidedly the best; and this, when all are so good, may be said without exciting any invidious comparisons with respect to the others.

We

As to the literary departments they are not, we are obliged to say, extremely happy. Very great names are affixed to very slender productions; and the Keepsake,' which takes the lead in embellishment, is the last in the merit of its contributions. cannot tell how this happens; we hope that no illjudged economy has been exercised, and that a future volume will remove the censure which unquestionably belongs to this. The Literary Souvenir,' and the Forget me Not,' rank next to the Keepsake;' then comes the Bijou,' a very beautiful volume, and then the Amulet,' which is only so-so-ish.

We confess that we look upon the introduction of works like these, which unite excellent engravings with agreeable pieces of light literature, with a kindly eye. Perhaps it is because we, although we publish more frequently, contrive to present our readers occasionally with a plate which may fairly stand the test of a comparison with some of those which grace The Annuals.' At least we do not know why it should not be so. We have seen, among the names of the artists who have designed expressly for The Annuals,' none that stands higher in his art than that of Mr. Corbould, from whose elegant pencil most of our designs have proceeded; and we might challenge them boldly to find

us the fellow of George Cruikshank, whose spirited drawings, cut with a perfectly kindred feeling by Thompson, have furnished our volume with vignettes and culs de lampe, which are no more to be surpassed by any publication of the day in excellence, than they are to be approached in point of cheapness. Of the literary part of our work it does not become us to speak with quite as little reserve; and yet justice to others compels us to say that we have had some original compositions, poetical as well as in prose, which we have no occasion to blush for; and now that we are talking of Annuals, we beg our readers just to look at our two volumes, the produce of a year, our twelve engravings, and our fourteen wood-cuts, and then we request them to tell us whether six shillings will buy any thing like them in any other place.

We are not, however, so smitten with our own deservings as to be blind to those of others, nor so churlish as to refuse praise where it is deserved. The following tale from the Literary Souvenir' is a good specimen of its contents.

THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE, IN 1664.

The green slopes and beechen groves of Somerhill were basking under the brightness of an unclouded summer sun, and even the grey stone walls of the venerable hall looked gay and gladsome under its cheering influence. In addition to the innumerable songsters whose melody daily enlivens the flowery thickets by which it is surrounded, there was a swell of sweet and stately music pealing along the trim alleys, accompanied, at intervals, by a measure of harmonious voices, breathing welcome to the fair of the fairest court in Christendom.-King Charles was feasting at Somerhill!

The minstrels remained invisible among the entangled garden-bowers; but the gay beings unto whom they addressed their flattering invocations, were seen scattered in groups upon the closely shaven turf, inhaling the rich fragrance of the bursting magnolia-flowers, or glancing from out the green wood walks-gorgeous,