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the prettiest girls in Naples, Mademoiselle Ottavia B--; he pursued her in all places, at all hours; at mass, in the Toledo, on the Corso, at the theatres; wherever she went, the first person her eyes met was Del B--; he was her shadow. He persecuted her with notes, with flowers, with messages, with supplications; he walked up and down before her windows half the day, and three parts of the night. No one who has not experienced it, can conceive the devotion, the indefatigable perseverance, the espionnage, which nothing, however trivial, can escape, the ingenuity which no obstacle, no opposition can baffle, of a Neapolitan lover.

"In this instance Del B met with more difficulties than usual; his love was an only daughter, and the parents, devotedly attached to her, dreaded his roué reputation, though in all other respects he was a 'bon parti,' and did all in their power to preserve her from him; even the ragazza herself gave him no encouragement. But all their efforts were foiled,-in vain they altered their promenades, their hours,—in vain they went to a different church every Sunday, and gave up their box at San Carlo. Every domestic in their house was in his pay, every person who entered it was marked, and every step they took out of it was followed.

"The unexpected resistance, which would have wearied out another, only inflamed Del B's capriccio into a passion; his feelings and his pride became equally interested in the result, and he would have died before he would have given up the game without vanquishing. For four months he continued the siege, without relaxing one day, in a vigilance and pertinacity rare even in Naples, till his unsuccessful suit became a matter of public notoriety and ridicule. But the dissuasions of his friends and the sneers of his enemies found him equally impenetrable; he was plus fin calculateur than they were; he knew his card. The parents grew weary and indifferent, while the daughter grew tender. It was impossible that a devotion so allabsorbing, so indefatigable, on the part of a man, handsome, fashionable, and distinguished, whose reputation for conquest was as well established as his fame for inconstancy, should fail to make a powerful impression at last on any young girl, however insensible. What but love, unquenchable, passionate, irresistible, could induce un homme à bonnes fortunes,' who had only to enter a salon, and to smile at the first woman who pleased him, to have her almost at his feet, to sacrifice his time, his pleasures, his opportunities, nay, that very reputation on which he prided himself most, for the sake of one who gave him nothing in return but the most chilling repulses? Again, if the capricious Lothario, whose most ardent passioni had seldom outlived three weeks, could be constant for four months to a mistress as freezing as the Venere Medicea, why not for ever, if his love were reciprocated? The conclusion was clear.

"In somma the day was half gained; you know that, with very few exceptions, our young girls are not allowed to enter society till they are married, unless it be an occasional soirée, at the house of some relative. Mademoiselle B was kept even more scrupulously secluded than ever during the four months' persecution of her innamorato. But at last she was suffered to go to a ball at the house of a cousin; of course Del B, though unexpected, contrived to be there, danced with her, talked to her, and saw no one else the whole evening.

"La bella found his lips even more eloquent than his eyes; from that night the victory was won. His biglietti were no longer unanswered; his flowers no longer rejected. They saw each other every day, every hour. The parents, hopeless at last of eluding him, broke through their system, and sought to counteract his influence by surrounding her with variety and amusement. To keep her in solitude was only so leave her nothing else to think of than the one she saw wherever they went. She was taken to all the theatres, the conversazioni, the most brilliant balls; but there again they were foiled. Del B, no more a rejected lover, took upon him all the rights of a favoured one. He began the usual system of prohibitions. He would not suffer her to speak, to dance, to look at any one but himself. If she glanced twice at the most indifferent person, if she received the most trifling civility with common politeness, if she thanked the stranger who picked up her fan, or her pocket-handkerchief, Del B- made her the most furious scena,' till at last she scarcely dared raise her eyes, or address one word to any other person.”

"What an intolerable esclavage!" I exclaimed in indignation; "how could any one be so tame-spirited as to submit to it?"

"Oh! that was nothing hors du commun; any Neapolitan innamorato would have exacted as much. We are all despots in love: you must admit, that, as we are so infinitely more devoué than all other nations, we have a right to be more exigéants. Mademoiselle B-- was not worse treated in that respect than any of her companions. Every Neapolitan girl knows that an accepted lover is a tyrant, to whom Argus was a fool in comparison. So customary is that jealous guardianship, that it would be impossible to persuade any ragazza that one was in love with her, unless she were watched with the eyes of a lynx, and a strict account exacted of every word and glance.

"But Del B- fiery and extreme in all things, exceeded the usual bounds. Every day he demanded some new sacrifice, and every day l' Ottavia became still more and more in love, and still more submissive and enslaved. She was not to waltz except with him; she was not to sing; she was not to take any one's arm, in short every evening was a new triumph to her lover. His conquest became as notorious as his pursuit had been.

"At last the friends on both sides came forward. They interceded with the parents, who on their part saw that the case was oramai desperate. Del B—— was not more likely to relinquish his suit, now that it was successful, than he had been when it seemed utterly hopeless. Their daughter's attachment to him had become too public to be either concealed or forgotten; in despair they gave their consent, and the marriage was fixed to take place at the end of six months. Everything went Everything went on smoothly; l'Ottavia was as much in love, and her fidanzato as assiduous as ever; the two families met on the friendly footing of relatives. Del B's eldest brother became a constant habitué of their family circle. He too became violently invaghito.

"As the period approached, his passion became more vehement, while that of the sposo cooled at the gloomy prospect of matrimony. A few days before the marriage was to take place, his brother offered him a large sum of money to spend in Paris, if he would

depart instantly and renounce his bride. You know that Paris is the El Dorado of all our lioni, and a journey thither the 'grande ambition' of their lives. The temptation therefore was a strong one- too strong to be resisted by the worn out fetters of a 'passione' already twelve months old, or by the weakening charms of an innamorata who was on the point of being metamorphosed into a wife. Del B—— took the night to consider of it, accepted the bribe the next day, and was en route the following morning.

"When the whole transaction and Del B's conduct transpired, nothing could exceed the general surprise and indignation. Mademoiselle B for a long while refused to believe in the voluntary desertion of her betrothed. But she had as much spirit and feeling as she had beauty; when at last she could no longer resist conviction, she would not hear his name, much less see his brother or any of his relations; she became ill; they retired to the country; on their return we were all shocked to see her so much altered; in the course of a year she died—died literally of a broken heart. She neither wept nor complained, she had no declared malady, but she faded gradually and gently and calmly away, till she died. Her parents are still more to be pitied; their sorrow is as deep as their loss is irreparable. Now do not imagine," continued the Marchese, "that I have availed myself of the privilege of a narrator, and coloured my story with any deeper tints than its own. Every incident I have recounted to you is historically true. I have merely given you the simple facts, which are so publicly known that you have only to mention the names of the parties, to hear the same tale repeated, word for word, by every lip."

The story was indeed melancholy, almost enough to sadden one; even when I was gazing on the Corso, and surrounded by the atmosphere of gaiety which Neapolitan élégants transport with them wherever they go.

"And yet," said the Marchese, in reply to my comments, "although it was supposed that Del B- would be universally excluded, no sooner has he returned, than he is as well received as ever by all except the immediate friends and relatives of his victim. Ainsi va le monde !'"

The fading light, and the bells which now began to toll the Ave Maria, warned us that it was already un'ora di notte, and that the Corso was waning to its close. But I did not regret the change. The deepening shades of night were more in harmony with the feeling the melancholy story had awakened, than the brilliant display of the preceding two hours.

We stood in the balcony. Groups of the lower orders were pouring into the neighbouring church. It was already crowded to overflowing; the great curtain was soon drawn up; all those who could not force their way in gathered round the entrance, and in a few minutes the steps were covered with a kneeling throng.

It was a singular mélange; a perfect picture en miniature of the manners and character of the people: religion and pleasure side by side; the votaries of both too much absorbed in their separate avocations, to heed each other. For while the devotees prayed with as much fervour as if they had been kneeling at the foot of the altar, the only notice taken of them by the beau monde, was, that,

as each successive carriage passed the open doors of the church, every head was bowed and every hat taken off.

Though it was only the repetition of the scene I had beheld every evening for the last four months in Rome, it seemed more strange than ever in Naples. Everything in the Eternal City is so solemn; its people, its pleasures are so grave, that religion scarcely ever seems out of place there, not even in its Corso. But amidst the bruyante gaiety of Naples it appeared quite incongruous. The loud chaunting of the people, too, mingling with the tones of the organ, rose on the air. Had we been nearer it would probably have been far less pleasing, but from whence we heard it, it sounded solemn and melodious. There is a natural depth and body of tone in all Italian voices, even amidst the lowest class, which renders their combination always rich and harmonious, when heard at a distance, however harsh or untutored they may be in reality. A moment more and the music ceased; all was hushed. It was the "benedizione." The kneelers almost prostrated themselves on the ground; even the carriages stopped motionless before the church, while the ladies knelt, and the gentlemen rose, and every one crossed himself and muttered a prayer. In an instant it was over, and all the stream of animation flowed on as carelessly as if it had never been interrupted. The crowd poured rapidly out of the church; the carriages vanished à vue d'œil, as the tide of gaiety rolled off to the Toledo; and in half an hour more the Chiaja was left to the solitary splendour of its glittering lamps and shadowy trees, while we might have fancied ourselves transported to a city of the dead-so silent and deserted was all around.

LIONI,

CHOLERA-MORBUS CLASSICUS.

BY CHARLES DE LA PRYME.

MAGNUS ventre dolor,
Nullus in ore color,

Dum languescit vultus;

Sanguis triste fluit,
Dum sine more ruit,

Sudor passim multus.

Cor torpore dolet,
Spiritus asper olet,

Angor torquet dorsum ;
Dentes usque fremunt,
Pallida labra tremunt,

Et detrectant morsum.

Noctes atque dies
Est tibi nulla quies,

Duram luges sortem;
Dicit morbus ibi,

Tempus abire tibi,

Nunc arcesso mortem.

Trinity College, Cambridge.

351

LITERARY RETROSPECT OF THE DEPARTED.

BY A MIDDLE-AGED MAN.

I was leaving the reading-room of the British Museum, in the olden times, when the door of that revered sanctuary opened on a narrow staircase, and led into a dark alley, when a soft elderly voice said, behind me,

"Pray sir, does it rain?

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"In torrents," I replied, beginning, à l'Anglaise, to unfold a new silk umbrella, without in the least regarding the wants and woes of the speaker behind me. We stood, nevertheless, for some moments side by side at the door, which opened on a little platform whence you descended to the dark narrow steps or alley below, partitioned off from the great court to the right. I think I see, even now, our very position. She, a lone, low-statured, elderly woman, dressed in the approved dowdy style adopted by lady authoresses in the reading-room; I, that nondescript creature, a literary soldier, a kind of Tadpole creature, just shaping into a distinct existence of my own, just feeling that I could stretch out my legs, and swim about on my own account, instead of being always at the mercy of my commanding officer, a mere machine, an insect, a very drudge in existence.

Well, the rain still fell in torrents, pelting the grey coat of the melancholy animal of a sentinel, who was pacing to and fro in the alley below, in a sort of mockery of the perfect tranquillity and ignoble safety of the British Museum; for it was then an institution almost forgotten by the London public, except when one's country cousins came to town, and some old aunt "made a day" to go and see it, and one was dragged by the minerals, and paraded through rows of shells, wishing one's legs were off, rather than they should have to perform such an office. Dim, stately, always in a fog, grand in its dirty exclusiveness, surrounded by its nestlings, the officers of the Museum, who enjoyed their dusty sinecures unmolested by a thinking and busy public, the Museum was at that time much upon the same footing as Miss Linwood's exhibition now. Its fame and importance had survived in the provinces, but were extinct in the memories of Londoners. My companion had an eye to my umbrella, I am certain of it,- indeed, I know it; not that she had an item on her back worth preservation. Her bonnet was a dusky black, poking over a very dingy, withered, blear-eyed visage, on which, such was the force of her perseverance, I bent after some time to look. There was a sort of quiet good breeding in the incognita, which led her to answer my look with a ready conversation.

"I think," she said, in a ready easy way, "I see you sometimes in the reading-room. I seldom," she added, shivering, and drawing around her a thin, shaggy fur tippet, the produce of some consumptive bear, "I seldom go there in the winter. It's such a remarkably uncomfortable place for getting a coach, and I do'nt like carrying an umbrella."

"No-it is-incovenient," replied I, embarrassed. Another pause ensued; still dripped the rain, and still, for it was four o'clock, out poured the dark contents of the reading-room, the melancholy company of "hacks," ghostly, unwashed, unshaven creatures, all with

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