But embrace thy smiling infant,
Now condemned to orphancy:
Miserable is my duty-

'Tis the excess of misery. Vain is all my wish, my lady,

Though I gave my life for thee'Tis thy doom-so now commend thee To the Eternal Deity.' 'Let me utter one petition, One, in all humility.' 'Countess, ere the dawn of morning, Pour thy offering speedily.' 'Soon it will be said, Alarcos,

Sooner than an Ave-Marie.'
This was her petition, bending

In the dust her trembling knee :--
Father! humbly I commend me,
I commit my soul to thee;
Judge me not by what I merit,

Judge me, Lord, benignantly;—
By Thy grace and gentle mercy,
And Thy love's benignity!
Count-my count-the prayer is uttered,
Uttered as 'twas wont to be.
To thee I commend our children,
Born in love 'twixt me and thee;
And while life is thine, Alarcos,

Pour thy prayers to heaven for me.'"

Then follows that most affecting incident of the poor countess asking for her baby to put him to her breast once more before she dies-an incident which cannot be read without emotion -which Bouterwek and the German critics have praised in the manner already mentioned, and concerning

which the American poet, Longfellow, asks "Is there in all the writings of Homer an incident more touching or more true to nature?"

Although we have by no means exhausted the subject of the Spanish ballads of chivalry in the present paper, we cannot more appropriately terminate the foregoing observations than by again quoting the elegant writer just alluded to. After taking a rapid but brilliant survey of the entire subject of Spanish metrical romance, he says: "Such are the ancient ballads of Spain-poems which, like the Gothic cathedrals of the middle ages, have outlived the names of their buildThey are the handiwork of wandering, homeless minstrels, who, for their daily bread, thus built the lofty rhyme,' and whose names, like their dust and ashes, have long been wrapped in a shroud."* "These poets," says an anonymous writer,† "have left behind them no trace to which the imagination can attach itself; they have

ers.

died and made no sign.' We pass from the infancy of Spanish poetry to the age of Charles, through a long vista of monuments without inscriptions, as the traveller approaches the noise and bustle of modern Rome through the lines of silent and unknown tombs that border the Appian Way.”

A FEW days after the visit of Porro to Nina Ezzellinni, on the outskirts of a wood, on the road leading to Milan, the capital of Austrian Lombardy, might have been seen three men, armed with carbines, conversing in a low tone together. The night was cold, and a sharp wind every now and then rustled through the trees, scattering the few leaves yet remaining, and which had, until then, withstood the approach of stern winter. The face of the moon was obscured by thick and dark clouds rolling over the firmament of heaven, while in the distance were heard the slight vibrations of thunder, accompanied with sudden flashes of lightning, indicative of an approaching

storm.

"Per Bacco!" exclaimed one of the men, "how chilly the night is. I wish he would come, and let us finish our business."

"Perhaps he has already passed. It seems to me we have been here fully two hours, and I think it is useless remaining any longer. By stopping. here I shall also lose seeing our promised Capitano, who is to visit us for the first time this evening."

"No, no, Giacomo,"exclaimed the third man, 66 you are mistaken. We have not been here an hour yet, and it is only your impatient spirit which makes you imagine we are here longer. What will not our comrades say to us if we return without having accomplished the first business entrusted to our hands?"

"I wish to perform it with credit, as much as you; but I long to see what sort of man our Capitano is, in case he is thought worthy of being elected to the post, which two or three of my friends, who seem to have a guess as to who he is, entertain no doubt of his being."

"We are sure to be back in time, for he was not to arrive till one o'clock, and it is scarcely twelve yet. Let us

not, however, forget our instructions, and harm the man; for the Baron told us we were on no account to hurt him."

"Not I," responded the comrade of Giacomo; although I can't say I should dislike to crack the skulls of a few of these barbarians. Per la Madre del Dio! I will still be revenged for the death of my brother."

"We shall hear to-night what the Capitano says, and then we shall know when our work is to commence. But what a stronghold we have got; it would defy all the ingenuity of the commissary and his agents to find out where we meet," said Giacomo.

"Yes, it will not be an easy task to find us out. I did not think, a few years ago, when I was accused of being joined in a conspiracy, I should ever be leagued with a real one."

"How was that?" asked Giacomo. "Tell us the story while we are waiting for this fellow; it will serve to pass away the time."

"Well, if you wish, I will relate how my poor brother was murdered, and how I fell into the hands of our present masters, who, God forbid should long continue to be so. It was in the year of 1831, when there was a great talk in Milan of a revolution likely to take place. I was one night walking in the country with a few comrades. We were talking and laughing, for we were all young fellows, of about sixteen or twenty years of age, when a small body of soldiers came along the road, and commenced to call us by different names. My brother, Enrico, who was with me, a young fellow, full of spirit, could not well brook the insults of the soldiers. length something was said to him which I did not well mind; but the instant the soldier who had addressed him had ceased speaking, he flung at him a stone, shouting out as he did so, We will kill you all, in a few days, in this

At

way.' The soldiers immediately seized upon us all, and declared we were a band of conspirators, and they would have their revenge upon us. They were all taken before the Commissary; for I, fortunately, escaped, by giving the soldiers who held me some money I had on me belonging to my mother, who I knew would not care for it when she learned the purpose I had put it to. Poor Enrico Penuzia was shot for being a conspirator, and the rest of my comrades have never been heard of since, although it is nearly six years ago."

"And what do you think has become of them ?" asked Giacomo.

"Lingering in some dungeon, I suspect. But, listen; there is the signal. Be ready to stop him."

A shrill whistle, that might almost be taken for the blast of the wind, echoed along the road, and then again another, sounding much nearer. Presently was heard the clattering of a horse's feet, and along the road came galloping a man dressed in the uniform of a government courier. His progress did not extend much further, for scarcely had he proceeded a few hundred yards, when the three men sprung out from the wood and seized his horse's reins. The sudden attack startled both the horse and his master, for the former, rearing and plunging furiously, upset the rider, and, escaping from the man who held him, galloped rapidly away, and soon disappeared from sight. To seize hold of the rider, and rifle his person of the despatches he bore from the Imperial Court to the different members of the Lombardic Government, was the work of a few moments; and binding the poor courier to a tree (from which in a few hours he was sure to be released), amidst his earnest supplications not to murder him, the party betook themselves away. Entering the wood again, which extended over many a hill and dale, they proceeded quickly to tread a small path, which turned now to the left and then to the right, seemingly as if it was interminable. After walking for the space of half an hour, they left the path entirely, and struck through the wood, where no sign of a road seemed ever to have existed. The wood appeared, however, well known to the men, for they experienced no difficulty in making their way through; and they trod boldly

forward, bending branch after branch aside that might have impeded their further progress. A shrill whistle, similar to the one which had given them notice of the approach of the courier, startled the silence of the night, hitherto broken by the wind and the roar of thunder. The three men stopped on hearing the sound; and Giacomo, applying his finger to his mouth, instantly repeated the signal. This was followed by two others, which were again repeated by Giacomo, and the three then continued their journey in perfect silence. They soon arrived at the top of a hill, where the trees were so thick they could scarcely force their road onwards. Here the signal was again repeated, and directly afterwards they were joined by another man, who led them down the steep hill, which it would have been impossible to have descended, it being almost perpendicular, were it not for the trees which they held by, as they slowly descended one by one. A small narrow opening presented itself a few hundred yards below in the hill, through which they crept, but soon the space widened sufficiently to enable them to walk straight, feeling the walls on either side, for the passage was totally enshrouded in darkness. At length a barrier opposed their further progress, and another signal was requisite to enable the difficulty to be overcome. A noise was after a few moments heard as if some iron machinery was at work, and the large ponderous piece of wall slowly opened, presenting to their sight a strange and picturesque scene.

The place they now entered was a large cavern, either cut out by art, or formed naturally. In the centre, built of stones, was erected a large table, and around it, formed by the same materials, was a number of seats, on which sat some fifty or sixty persons. On the table lay a miscellaneous collection of arms, consisting of guns, swords, pistols, and knives, intermixed with glasses and small casks of wine. The countenances of the persons assembled there presented every variety of features-the dark and handsome ones of the south, with the bold and lighter ones of the northern part of Italy; while in their dress appeared the same variety- the coarse coat of the artisan mingled with the fine-texture one of the gentleman. The

end of the cavern was hung with large folds of black cloth, while on the top of it, extending in the middle, hung a banner of a blood-red colour, on which was written in bold characters

"SOCIETY OF THE VENGATORI, Formed on the Twenty-first day of August, 1847, To redeem from slavery the land Of their Nativity.

Blessed be he who dies in its service! Cursed the coward whose arm fails in its duty!"

As the three men and the person who had joined them entered the cavern, they were welcomed by their companions, and room was made for them to sit down. A person who sat at the head of the table, and who appeared to be a kind of leader, rose from his seat, and informed them their promised chief had arrived, and that the business of the night would be proceeded with. Instantly a perfect silence ensued, and nothing was heard but the gathering up of the arms, as each person seized his own weapon.

The Baron Pinaldi then entered the cavern, and approached the head of the table

"Companions and Vengatori !" he exclaimed, "this night, the third of our meeting, we have met together again, to see in what way we can advance further our sacred cause. You are all aware the object we have in view the emancipation of our native land from foreign oppression; but none of us are acquainted with the means to be employed in attaining this holy end. By the rules of our order we are bound to obey implicitly, at any hazard, the orders of our chief, if that head be elected by the unanimous voice of our body. We have hitherto thought and pondered over such an election, but notwithstanding the number of names we have mentioned, not one has been deemed worthy of a general vote. To place our lives, our future destinies, the welfare of our country, at the command of a single will, is a fearful responsibility; and yet to carry out successfully the ends of our order, it is impossible, without such a trust, however great and solemn, be confided in one.

Hitherto

I have remained silent, thinking you would have found one worthy of your generous confidence, but you have failed in doing so. Vengatori, that silence I now break, and declare to you I have found the one you have sought

for in vain a youth, rich in birth, in fortune, in patriotism. Companions of our holy cause! Vengatori of our country's rights! behold the chief worthy of your votes!"

The folds of the black cloth were slowly drawn aside. In a small inner cave, hung with the same sombre hue, before an altar, on which stood a huge crucifix, behind it the likeness of our Saviour encircled with a crown of glory, was seen the manly and handsome countenance of Alberico Porro, glowing with eager expectation. Known to everyone present, for most of the persons belonged to the town of Padua and the city of Milan, a burst of applause greeted his unexpected presence. Advancing a few paces, and gracefully acknowledging the glad welcome he had received, he exclaimed

"Fellow-countrymen! but a short time ago returned from a foreign land to revisit my own, at the request of an aged parent, I did little imagine, when entering Padua, I should be witness to a deed of injustice and oppression unworthy the age in which we live. I allude to what the greatest part of you are acquainted with, the imprisonment of the Signora Azellinni. Too young when I left my native soil to understand the miserable subterfuges of power, I have returned, with mind expanded, to grasp and shift the exercise of undue imperial despotism. A lawless act committed before my sight, and which should have condemned the perpetrators to a severe punishment, is not only allowed to pass over in silence, my entreaties for redress unheeded, but is considered, in the estimation of Austrian wisdom, a fit act for reward. Do our masters think we have sunk so low, that we have become so debased in mind, so unheedful to the voice of pity, that murderers are to walk our cities in triumph, not considered even fit companions for us to associate with? Yes, Italians, we have given them reason to think so, when for thirty-two years we have borne almost uncomplainingly this barbarous Attila yoke. It is time we should awake to a proper sense of our manhood, to a thorough appreciation of our shame, and, casting aside for ever the fears which have kept us asunder, unite with heart and hand to efface the burning brand of Cain from our brows. I have come, therefore, to you this night, fearless in heart and purpose, to