Bertolini was for some time unable to reply; astonishment, doubt, and perplexity, took from him the power of judgment; and it was not till Solerno had repeatedly pressed for an answer that he was able to give him one. At length he acquired composure enough to assure him of his unchanged affection; and to confess, that now the first shock was over, and since Solerno would have ratified the marriage contract with unwillingness, he could not but rejoice that his daughter had accepted the hand of Count Amalfi.

All eagerness to impart the unexpected tidings to his friend, and to arrange for an immediate departure with him from the Venetian territories, Solerno hastened away from Bertolini, and swiftly retraced his steps to the Casino. He found St. Hypolite already informed of the event. A letter had just been brought to him which contained only these words:

"Ere I quit Venice with the distinguished nobleman to whom I have just bestowed my band, I cannot refrain from advising you never again to believe that either your person or manners can charm a woman of honour out of her principles. I have had much amusement with your vanity and credulity; have laughed over them with the man I really loved; and leave you now properly punished by mortification, for your despicable attempt on my heart. It was impossible to resist the charming entertainment of making you a dupe; so if you should drown yourself in despair, I really can not help it. My letters were chef d'œuvres of mock passion, and Count Amalfi's sword will always be ready to disprove any base attempt of your cheated vanity to make them appear otherwise.

ALDONGA AMALFI."

obliged to the fury of mortified vanity! Every thing has arranged itself to a marvel: you are free; she is honourably put out of the way; Signor Bertolini may still dream that he has a virtuous daughter; I will be silent, for all sakes; she, for her own: and so now Solerno, what is to prevent us from setting off for Roussillon?"-Nothing could, nothing did prevent them in a few hours they were again in the Bertolini palace, where it was agreed they should devote the remainder of that day to the yet agitated father, and on the morrow commence their journey.

St. Hypolite had too much good sense, and too little romance to wish for a complete surprize at the Chateau: the sensibilities of his mother, as well as those of Julie were not to be played upon, for the sake of displaying before his friend all the power he had over

them he therefore took advantage of a private conversation between the Marquis and his patron, and retired to write a brief account of his adventures and their consequences, to Madame St. Hypolite.

Unconscious of his daughter's intimate intercourse with the young Frenchman, and led to consider his assumption of the married character, as a convenient shelter from the attacks of desiguing women, Signor Bertolini received and parted from him as a friend. Solerno's description of his amiable family, and lively portrait of the fair creature to whom he was. now going to offer his hand, added an interest to Bertolini's former good opinion, and he felt therefore no difficulty in promising So. lerno his society at Naples, whenever Mademoiselle St. Hypolite should enable the latter to return there as an happy bride groom.

Ere Solerno departed, he renewed his exhortations to his benefactor to receive his daughter with affection. "The Count Amalfi's character," he said, "never yet had any stain but the reproach of being too much enslaved by that charming sex which is formed to rule; he has long loved Aldonga, and she has charms enough to make him content." Solerno ceased, but he pursued the subject in his own mind, and thought that perhaps this union with a man who was at once the most pas. sionate lover, and the most determined spirit,

might fix the young Countess at last in honour and duty.

Soothed by this benevolent idea, he parted affectionately from Count Bertolini, and, accompanied by Francois, left the Venetian territory. Their journey was rapid and fortunate; and ere they reached that province of France which now bounded all their views, Solerno's face and figure had lost every trace of former suffering. The soft and balmy airs of spring were lightly moving the first green leaves of the accacias, while the almond grounds blushed like the cheek of beauty,waft ed odours of Paradise, when the tavellers came in sight of the Chateau.

"Ah! my dear home!" exclaimed Francois, his heart looking through his eyes. Solerno did not speak; but his heart beat with an almost audible throb, and the faithful colours of his complexion spoke all the variety and ardour of his feelings.

The carriage in which they were, was just entering a side road that wound round the wilderness; voices were heard there.

Let us alight," said Solerno; and the next moment, followed by Francois, he leaped over the outer hedge, and made his way through a thicket of lilacs and eglantine towards the spot whence the voices proceeded. In a little green recess, which nature had formed out of the bank, and shadowed with the most beautiful of the oderiferous shrubs, sat Julie and her mother. Solerno held back the eager Francois, and receding behind the boughs of an old chesnut, which intercepted the full prospect, paused to gaze on the lovely vision, and to fortify his heart against its excess of joy, Madame St. Hypolite sat in the recess, her pensive features now hid and now revealed by the wavering of the feathery branches which hung from the bank; the letter of Francois was in her hand. Julie's graceful

figure was thrown along the moss at her feet' her white and clasped hands resting on her mother's knee, while her angelic eyes raised to those of Madame, by turns turned glowing away, or remained fixed and sparkling, as the conversation absorbed or transported her.Never had she looked so beautiful, so interesting. Soleruo gazed enamoured; his heart sprung to her, but his trembling limbs refused to bear him forward: filial love, however, gives wings to the feet as well as heart; Francois broke from the slackening grasp of bis friend, and rushing towards them, was the next moment in the arms of his mother. Julie started from the ground, beheld Solerno, tottered, sunk, and was caught upon that bosom where she would willingly have dwelt for ever. Her lover dared not yet believe himself accepted. He supported her on his breast with trembling respect, but his fond lips ventured not to press even the silken ringlets of her hair. Madame St. Hypolite quitting Francois approached Solerno:—“ My son!” she exclaimed, my son!" and with a shower of tears she wet the respectful embrace he proffered. Julie was now hanging on the arm of her brother: Madame looked fondly at her, then with extreme emotion upon Solerno: she joined their hands:" Happy, happy be this union!" she exclaimed; "blessed be the hour which shall give me another son in the son of him I once loved, and never can remember without regret." Tears again broke from ber eyes, but a joyful smile irradiated them. Soleruo now clasped the blushing Julie to his breast with all a lover's ardour, and as a softly murmured assent replied to his whispered vows, Francois whimsically swore they had put him in love with Love, and that before next spring, he would bestow on Madame another daughter.

DEATH OF PETER THE GREAT.

PETER died, as he had lived, a great man! Every circumstance of his malady, and the cause of his death could only appertain to an

extraordinary personage. A too frequent use of strong liquors had occasioned a violent pain in the neck of the bladder; and he could not bring himself to disclose the nature of his dis

order. This conqueror, this intrepid warrior, who had so often confronted death at the head of his armies, could not conquer a false delicacy: it cost him his life. It is certain that had he discovered his malady from the beginning, he might have lived thirty years longer; he was of a strong constitution, and this disorder, in its commencement, was a thing of no consequence.

This childish timidity, this species of innocence and modesty, is certainly one of the properties of genius; and it is a principle attached to great men to wish to conceal their weakness from the world; but which too often gives us cause of sorrow, as in the present instance, for the fatal consequences which

may ensue.

Thirty years longer of life, from the energy given by Peter to the nation, would have rendered it much more strong and complete: he saw, under his reign, that revolution which he had prepared, almost entirely accomplishéd. What good did he not perform for Russia? What long rooted abuses did he not destroy? What wonderful establishments did he not make? In a painful disorder, he took, like a timid child, in a private manner, and as if by stealth, the medicines of an empiric, brought him by one of his valets, and who, according to the state he was in, promised to cure him! He continued these remedies, and the disorder increased: vanquished, at last, by extreme pain, he had recourse to physicians. Doctors Blomenstrof and Bredlow, made use of ordi

* He was modest, in two senses; and modesty and simplicity were, at that time, the accompaniments of great minds. I knew only the Marechal Villars, who was an exception to this rule. After a long succession of military glory and brilliant actions, he might have aspired to the title of a great man, if he had not sounded his own praises; ever boasting, he spoke of only his own merits and services, and had all the vanity of a man risen from nothing.

nary methods, which might have succeeded in the commencement: but an inflammation having taken place, their cares were insufficient; the evil was irremediable.

After undergoing some operations, he was in a fair way of recovery, but his cure was not yet established-he became impatient: this active being had not learnt to endure sickness, and he suffered from his confinement, as much as from his disorder: he went to visit the works of the canal at Ladoga; a great undertaking, conducted and directed by the Count of Munich; from thence he went to view the armories, the salt works, and ferges; all those establishments created by himself, the fruits of his genius, and the information he had gained by his travels. It was at the latter part of the year, in the month of October, already very severe in the climate of Russia, he went by water, his favourite way of travelling, the cold seized him, and he felt it. The physician advised him to return immediately to Petersburgh; he was not yet ill, but he expected to become so. An honourable cause, worthy of his great soul, the cause of humanity, caused his relapse.

He returned by the Achta; he saw a boat overset, and the sailors in danger of perishing, were struggling against the waves: he sent some of his crew to their assistance; they were unsuccessful, not being quick enough. Peter followed all their movements with his eye; his generous heart beat for the wretched, helpless beings; he could restrain himself no longer; he ordered his yatcht to advance, he plunged into the water, and hastened to succour the unfortunate! his strength and his lofty stature rendered him fit for an enterprise of this kind; he saved, and dragged all these sailors out of the water! But he felt the cold and damp had deeply penetrated his body, though he was free from pain. When he arrived at Petersburgh he had a fatal relapse, a gangrene had taken place in the part affected, and he died at the age of fifty-three years.

HAVING staid a few days at Girgenti, I proceeded across the mountains to Palermo in a letica, the only kind of carriage suitable to the country roads of Sicily. It is in the form of a coach, and carried between two mules in the style of a sedan chair.

The country between Girgenti and Palermo is what a painter would probably call, very beautiful, and a young lady, romantic. It is, however, really often savage, seldom pleasant, and altogether such as only necessity should lead me to pass again. But in many places one cannot avoid observing the liberality of nature to Sicily. The soil here and there, where the torrents from the mountains had worn out channels, appeared to be not less than twenty or thirty feet in depth. fields, from which the harvest had just been removed, bore scarcely any traces of tillage. The Sicilian husbandry utensils are still in a rude state; the native fertility of the land is never properly excited; and the thinness of the stubble on the fields shewed that the produce had been scanty.

The

In the village where I rested for the night my guard procured me a miserable lodging in a little wine shop, but more comfortable, as he assured me, than I should have found at the inn, where the mules and letica were stabled.

Soon after leaving this village, we entered the great road to Palermo. I was equally pleased and surprised at the number of welldressed peasants whom I met returning from the market, and the prosperous appearance of the country. The vineyards in many places were in excellent order; the inclosures, though formed of that cumbrous shrub the prickly pear, were decently enough kept; and neat little country houses were interspersed among the fields.

After leaving the mountains, and coming down upon the level between them and the sea, the approach to Palermo is uncommonly delightful. The city, crowned with numerous domes, appears scarcely inferior to the idea

which one is apt to conceive from the descriptions of Brydon. It stands at the junction of several valleys, and the surrounding mountains are finely picturesque; the sea also adds to the charms of the view. The surface is frequently enlivened by numerous vessels and fishing-boats, scattered over it to the utmost range of the sight.

All the descriptions that I bave seen of the capital of Sicily are rather defective than incorrect. Only the finest things are brought into the picture; the great masses of mean and slovenly objects, which every where offend the eye in the original, are excluded by the prejudices of the taste of travellers. Palerme, notwithstanding the number and architectural magnificence of its palaces and churches, has an air of tawdry want, such as cannot be distinctly described. Poverty seems really to be the ordinary condition of the people from the top to the bottom. The ground stories of the noble edifices in the Via Toledo, as well as in the other great streets, would never have been converted into shops and coffee-houses, could the Princes and Dukes above-stairs have easily done otherwise.

It is the custom here for tradesmen of all sorts to carry on their respective employments in the open air. The number, in particular, of shoemakers and tailors at work in the Via Toledo is inconceivable. Indeed the crowd of persons in the streets is much beyond any thing that I have elsewhere seen; certainly much greater than in London. But, considering the extent of the city, only four miles within the circumference of the walls, it is impossible to be believed that the population is so great as the Sicilians allege. They talk of three hundred thousand inhabitants; a number, notwithstanding that the people swelter by dozens together in very small apartments, not to be credited. The population of Palermo may be equal to that of Dublin.

It appears to me, that it is not only the practice of the Sicilian tradesmen to work in the streets, but that particular streets in Pa