But what sort of government should be established in the mean time? There must be an interval and a long one too, between the establishment of a new and better system, and the securing of that system by a proportionate improvement in the people. It must be a government, which will not only protect the lives, the property, and the independence of its subjects, but which will improve their minds and their habits. Now in what proportion should be mingled the ordinary elements of a supreme power? The people will make but a sorry figure at legislation for some time yet to come, if we may judge from their appearance, when at their daily occupations; and will the monarchical or the aristocratical branches of the national tree cherish and protect the infant shoot, for the express purpose of allowing it to rise high above and overshadow themselves? This has not been the inclination usually shown by them in other countries, but it must be so here, or, for ought I can see, the Neapolitan people are likely to gain little by the revolution.

LESSON LXXVII.

Rural adventure in Italy.-ANONYMOUS.

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As the old priest had now gone away, the little girl walked slowly towards me, looking by turns at the cattle and the stranger, and knitting very sedately. Is this the church of St. Lorenzo, little girl? Signor si [yes sir,] will you go in and see it? Shall I go and call brother Luigi back?' 'No, no, I have no time to spare-You have some fine oxen yonder.' 'Yes, sir, they are very good and quiet. They let me take care of them, and do every thing I tell them, although I am a little girl. There are only nine now; the other has gone away--the companion of that you see on the little bank. I don't believe you ever saw better oxen, sir. Only observe what a good grey colour they have: that is the best colour for oxen.'

She wore a bonnet made of coarse braided straw, and carried another tied to her arm. She had a most amiable little face, and I thought might have been taken for a New England child, even to the crooked, rusty knitting-needles she had in her hands. The stocking, however, was of brown thread; her knitting-sheath a hollow stick, (perhaps elder), and when she spoke it was only Italian.

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'Is that your first stocking?' Signor no- -I have knit a whole pair before this, for you will perceive I can knit almost all day while the weather is so clear and warm, though I am sometimes interrupted when the oxen stray, and very often by my little sister you see there, running up to us with her hair flying. She is not my sister either, but the daughter of my mother-in-law. Her name is Maria-I am Teresa-Ah, Maria! Where have you been to get your cheeks so red? Come here, and put on your bonnet.'

But the bright-eyed little girl refused and resisted, from mere excess of spirits; and though more wild and roguish, was quite as good natured as.her sister. There, signor, you see what a trouble she is: she won't mind me. She is very

bad, do you not think so?-But would not you like to go in and see the church, sir? You will find the chapel of San Fabiano, and that of San Sebastiano over his own tomb. Oh, they are very beautiful. You can see the catacombs too, sir, where all the christians were buried; and if brother Luigi were only here-I'll ring the bell, and then he'll come back, and tell you a great deal about them. He knows all the chapels, and the statues and the pictures, and where the christians used to pray under ground, and bury the martyrs.*

I was too much in haste, and contented myself with a hasty glance at the interiour of the church, without waiting for the catacombs to be opened, concerning which, my book confirmed the words of my little friend. As I came out, she asked me for some money, though with a downcast look, and an actual blush, which, on account of its rarity, speedily atoned for a specimen of that avarice far more common in this country.

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'How can you ask me for any thing,' said I 'when you have nine large oxen like those, and I have not one, and never had any. Please to bear in mind, signor,' she answered, coming nearer with her needle pointed at me— -Please to bear in mind, that they are not my oxen. They belong to Giuseppe [Joseph], a gentleman who leaves them with us, to be taken care of, and pays us very little for it. Giuseppe lives in Rome. My house is only a little way from here. Will you go and see it? Come, I will show it you. Thank you, signor. But if you don't give Maria some money too, I am afraid she will cry.' Maria did indeed begin to look sorrowful, and was just about to cry-or, as Teresa expressed it, to set herself to weeping-but she could not dissemble, and broke out in a broad laugh, while Teresa bade me 'addio' with a sweet smile.

LESSON LXXVIII.

The Bay of Naples.-T. W. STONE.

SEE how the peaceful ripple breaks,
In calmness on the verdant shore,
While Zephyr, gently breathing, wakes
The slumbering spirit of each flower,
Which glows in beauteous brilliancy,
Along the margin of the tide,

And oft arrests the wandering eye,
As o'er the waves we gently glide.

Let us unfold the swelling sail, Beneath the silent, silvery moon ; And catch the softly murmuring gale, Which breathes in midnight's solemn noon. And thou, my friend, shalt guide us now

Along the bosom of the bay,

While seated on the lofty prow

We mark the ripple, that our way

Leaves on the waters, like the streak
Of morning, on an Alpine height,

When Sol's first radiant day beams break,
In all the glow of infant light.

What sounds resound along the shores! What echoes wake from off the seas! While musick from Italian bowers,

Comes mingled with the evening breeze;
The careless sailor floats along,

Slow wafted by the ebbing flood,
And swells the chorus of the song,
Which joyous peals from hill and wood.
And laughing bands of youth are there,
Who deftly dance to lightest measure,
And sea, and shore, and earth, and air,
Resound to mellow notes of pleasure.

But, ah! 'tis past; a deeper brown Has tinged the foliage of the wood, Vesuvius' mighty shadows frown, Majestically o'er the flood;

Fair land where oft, in days of yore,
The hymns of liberty were sung;
Thy boasted empire's now no more,
Thy lyre of freedom all unstrung.
But, still the spirit loves to tread
Where sleep the great of ages ended,
For, musing on the mighty dead,
They seem with all thy scenery blended.
They seem to whisper in thy trees,
They seem to flit along thy mountains,
They seem to float in evening's breeze,
They seem to haunt thy limpid fountains,

LESSON LXXIX.

Ruins of Paestum in Italy.—ANONYMOUS.

FEW places combine, within such narrow limits, so rich a train of various meditation, for persons, of whatever disposition, or habit, as this city, upon the Gulf of Salerno. At a point, removed from the sight of civilized life, surrounded with the relicks of men, who lived in the highest stage of luxury, he who can only admire the skill, which raised an architrave, or he who has fancy enough to picture the living scene of a Grecian city, while sitting on its tomb, will find no other interruption than the rapid movement, now and then, of a beautiful lizard, which he has startled from basking in the sunshine.

The still sea, at a distance, and the dark mountains, upon the opposite side, are both so far away, that not even the dashing of the water, or the wandering of the clouds, distract the soul from the present vision. The noxious Mal'aria,* has thinned the region of its inhabitants, and left it to excite, by its solitude, an unbroken chain of musing, in one who, in his pilgrimage over Italy, pauses at this remote point.

It was from Paestum, that I was to turn my face homeward. The eye, which is insatiable, had beheld the choicest wonders of the world; and, it was suitable, that the last object should be such a ruin,-simple, and majestick, like the Pantheon-lasting as the Coliseum--and, lonely as the trackless desert.

A journey in Italy, may be compared, not unaptly, with the course of human life. The plains of Lombardy, and the vale of Arno, are rich and smooth and beautiful, as youth; we come to Rome for the sights and experience and reflections, which suit manhood; we retur, after the bustle of life, to the comforts congenial to age, and which are provided in sunshine, and air, and the bounties of nature, as we find them, at Naples; and, we at last behold Paestum, as the soberest evening scene, which shuts up our wearisome pilgrimage, and ends our toil.

The fate of empires, and cities, concerns us little, in comparison with our own destiny; for each man's bosom is a little world, and is all the world to him.

LESSON LXXX.

Scene from the Tragedy of Brutus.--PAYNE.

Scene, the camp before Ardea.

[Enter CLAUDIUS and ARUNS, laughing.]

Aruns. THERE is no doctor for the spleen like Lucius! What precious scenes of folly did he act

When, lately, through the unknown seas of Greece

He went with us to Delphi !--but, behold!

Where full of business his wise worship comes!

* The Mal'aria, or bad air, is a state of the atmosphere, or of the soil, or of both, in different parts of Italy, producing in the warm season, a fever, more or less violent, according to the nature of the exposure; but generally fatal, where the exposure has been long continued, or the place amongst the more dangerous.-N. A. Review.