cracy, which I shall call the aristocracy of talent. The younger sons apply themselves to the learned or liberal professions, the church, the law, medicine, the army and navy, literature, the fine arts. These professions are also so many vehicles by which plebeians may step in amongst the upper classes. The only obstacle is the expense of their education, but this is facilitated by numerous charitable establishments, in which they receive the first rudiments; and where, if they show real talent above their native situation, they often meet with patrons who assist them to ascend the ladder of study and advancement. It is thus, that by a concourse of happy combinations, the aristocracy of this country is not exclusive, but leaves numerous doors open to talent, merit, and, of course, to favourable chances also. Many of the most distinguished characters, and of the most exalted too, have risen by these means. I admire the structure, Giulio ;-I see a beautiful harmony in the parts;-I know there are and must be weak points and flaws here and there;-but I see nothing else equal to the tout ensemble, either in ancient or modern history; nor, I must confess, am I sanguine enough to expect I could ever see any thing better on the same scale. Perhaps this is owing to the want of elasticity of my mind, as some of our theoretical acquaintances would call it; let it be so ;-my notions of the powers of man rise only to a certain height, considerable with regard to himself, but insignificant if scanned by the abstract idea of perfection; beyond which I see nothing but an unfathomable space which stands between him and the source of all good.

And now, my beloved friend, I shall close my remarks upon England, that England which you have often heard me extol and defend against the misconstructions of ignorance and the sneers of envy and malignity. I can also truly say, that while in this country I have, whenever opportunity has occurred, done the same duty by our Italy. My efforts may appear vain; it is a difficult task to have to fight against diametrically opposite prejudices; yet I have reason to believe that in both cases I have made a certain impression upon the mind of some of my hearers, and thus far I have contributed my mite towards the work of promoting conciliation and good will amongst men whatever be the place of their birth. In these hasty sketches which I have just traced, you will observe that most of the faults I have censured, do not effect the cha racter of this people, which is avowedly sound and noble ; they belong more to the outward than to the inward man. Some of them are closely linked with that strong stamp of nationality which I should be sorry to see effaced, as I look upon it as essential to the welfare of this empire. I have

spoken frankly, and let it be recollected I have spoken to a foreigner, and as a foreigner, labouring himself under some of the disadvantages under which the English labour when they judge of other countries.

I admire England as the proudest monument ever erected by the united power and wisdom of social men; I believe this country has done more good to the cause of humanity than any other country under the sun. Most of the improvements. that have taken place within a century past in the condition of mankind have been derived from the example of England. This I state fearlessly in reply to the declamations of violent men of various parties and countries, men whose old antipathies are now revived under new names. In my opinion, the English as a nation have amply paid their share towards the general welfare of society. They might have done still more, some will say, but what right had other nations to expect this; what have other nations done for England? This is the question, Giulio, which has often occurred to me when I have met on the Continent with some of our rancorous philan thropists who are eternally finding fault with this country for every thing that she did not or could not do, and are wilfully blind to all she has done. Is England to assume the armour and helmet of the knight of La Mancha, and devote all her efforts to the impracticable and thankless task of redressing the wrongs of the whole world, meantime neglecting her own interests, which, by every principle of reason it is her paramount duty to attend to? Let us be just and not require of others more than we would ourselves do for them. Those Continental men, who blinded by an ungenerous envy can wish for the downfal of England, do not know what they wish for. The fumes of malignant passions prevent them from foreseeing the fatal consequences of the fulfilment of their insane wish, consequences which would be ruinous to the whole human race for centuries to come,-consequences at which the bitterest enemy of England, if he be sincerely attached to the welfare of any country, would tremble. I am not a believer in the prevalent doctrine of a retrograde movement; but if there be any chance of Europe returning to a state of bar-2) barism, I think that the overthrow of the English empire must be the necessary forerunner of such a disastrous cas tastrophe.

There are men of a different mind who think that England has done too much, and that her influence is therefore dangerous to other states; these men are equally unreasonable! as the others, although perhaps more sincere in the narrowness of their views. Considered with regard to the moral influence she has necessarily exerted over the rest of the world,

Britain might be compared to one of her own magnificent phares rising proudly above her rocky coast in the midst of the surge, and the foam of the ocean, and imparting its lifesaving light to all navigators whether friendly or hostile ; warning them of the dangers they must avoid, and the course they ought to steer. Dark mists may at times obscure the beacon, but the light never dies; its ray at last pierces through the surrounding gloom, and shines again amidst the storms of the air, and over the raging waves of the deep.

If we take the English individually, their deeds of charity and generosity towards the unfortunate of every land, within the last thirty years stand unrivalled in the history of the world. There has not been an appeal made from any one spot between the Kremlin and the rock of Lisbon, and from the Shannon to the Euphrates, by the victims of war or famine, pestilence or earthquakes, in short, by the distressed of every sort, that was not readily and cheerfully answered to in England. Thousands of exiles from various parties, and at different periods have found here a safe asylum; many have met with consolation and support. Ministers of rival churches, princes of hostile dynasties, nobles and plebeians, soldiers and civilians of almost every land under the canopy of heaven have taken refuge here, and have been treated with the sympathy due to misfortune. Many of them have since returned to their native homes, under more prosperous auspices; the turn of others will come, for such is the march of human affairs; may none of them ever forget, when the storm is past, the harbour to which they once resorted for shelter, and where that shelter was granted.

As for you, my dear Giulio, who have fortunately kept clear of political strife, and to whom your moderation is a safe guard for the future, these remarks will tend to make you satisfied with the country that gave you birth, and which with all its faults, has still many redeeming qualities. Remember that an exile if he be a man of susceptibility can hardly experience happiness, although he may become resigned and even reconciled to his fate. The advantages, the excellencies even of the country he lives in, are not a sufficient compensation for his separation from the objects to which his eyes were early accustomed; for of all associations of ideas those connected with our youthful impressions and remembrances are the strongest. There are many thoughts, many sensations, especially those related to imagination and humour, which can be common only to natives of the same country, and can never be felt or understood by foreigners; without the communion of these society loses half its charms.

I cannot agree with Bolingbroke's sentiments on exile, in

those passages where he makes light of its attendant misery; clothed as they are in the splendour of eloquence, and adorned with fine imagery, they appear to me to conceal the coldheartedness of a sceptic. I doubt even whether he was sincere when he wrote his reflections, or whether he, like many others, did not endeavour to deceive himself. When he attempts to despise the attachment most men instinctively feel for their native country, and which he looks upon as inconsistent with reason, I could answer him in the words of a French living poet :

Oui, la raison se tait, mais l'instinct vous repond.

How much more amiable and natural are the sentiments which our Metastasio puts in the mouth of the exiled Themistocles, when the monarch of Persia asks him what is there in that Athens, that he is so tenaciously attached to?

Tutto, Signor; le ceneri degli avi,

Le sacre leggi, i tutelari Numi,

La favella, i costumi,

Il sudor che mi costa,

Lo splendor che ne trassi,

L'aria, i tronchi, il terren, le mura, i sassi.

No philosophy, my dear Giulio, can convince a man who feels thus. Sentiments of a similar nature often intrude upon the tedious hours of your wandering friend, when he hovers in fancy over the ground he first trod upon: Non è questo il terren ch' i toccai pria? Salute it in my name, my Giulio, as the sun rises from behind the dark Apennines. How beautiful, how glorious it rises; smiling over the land which seems to smile up in return, as a loving maid to her youthful and ardent lover! Vale!

THE LADY ALICE LISLE.

PART I. *

THE last faint flush of daylight had faded away, and the framework of the casement which had been darkly opposed to the sombre sky, gradually blended with the blackness of night. A domestic entered with a torch, and lighting a lamp, which hung in the farther end of the spacious apartment, was about to light several others, when his Lady said to him, with a sad but gentle voice, "Leave me, at present, Richard, and light no more." The servant obeyed, after heaping a pile of

pine-wood on the ample fire-place. The Lady, who sat alone, and mournful, soon relapsed into a mood of deeper abstraction. The pale light of the single lamp, faintly shadowed out her white and silken drapery, from the prevailing gloom: but as the fire, which had before almost died away, burst out into flames and brightness, its reddening glow played over her cheek, which had been pale for many months: the lady shivered, as she felt, for the first time, the slight warmth; but still her mind's anxiety so absorbed every outward sense and feeling, that she thought not on the coldness of the night. An hour had passed away before the meditations of the lady were again disturbed, and the same domestic announced her husband's approach. She raised her eyes, as the gentleman entered the apartment, and started when she beheld him. He was followed by others of his servants, but, at his look, they forthwith departed. The lady had risen partly from her chair to welcome her husband, but feelings, which she could not repress, stopped her: she shrunk back, as if unable to look upon him; yet she tried to conceal the shuddering that crept through her every vein, and, leaning her arm on the carved frame-work of her chair, she covered her eyes with her hand. "Art thou not well, Alice?" said the gentleman, and his wife thought that his voice faltered. He came nearer to her, and stooped down to embrace her, but although she rose up towards him, she half withdrew from the arm that encircled her form. Her hand was clasped in his, but it returned not his pressure; and though his lips were pressed to her cheek, that cheek was cold and wet with falling tears. Whether the gentleman felt the reception he met with or no, he seemed to understand it, and to understand it so well, that he thought fit not to notice it. He sat down with a frown on his face, and the timid restraint of the lady increased. Alice, at length, lifted up her head, and looked out through her fingers on her husband's countenance, which she had never feared to gaze upon till then. "Ah," she thought within herself, "shall I not find some feature altered there? shall I not seek in vain for the looks that I love best, for all the former fine expression of his face." She looked up, and beheld only an expression of impatient anger. Alice strove with herself, and withdrew her hand from her face, she looked, or tried to look kindly in her husband's face. At once, his anger passed away, and he spoke in the voice she had so often heard with delight. Alice rose up. "It is in vain," she said, "I cannot dissemble, tell me that the report is false, tell me at once-It must be false, or you could not look, or you could not speak thus-It is false," she repeated, as she drew nearer to him, "Assure me, comfort me, my own husband." "What is false?" he said,