that Addison's professions and practice were at no great variance, since amidst that storm of faction in which most of his life was spent, though his station made him conspicuous and his activity made him formidable, the character given him by his friends was never contradicted by his enemies; of those with whom interest and opinion united him, he had not only the esteem but the kindness; and of others whom the violence of opposition drove against him, though he might lose the love, he retained the reverence." Addison was born in 1671. His father was a clergyman and no doubt his early training produced that virtuous bias which marked his whole life and has shed a moral radiance over all his writings. He always had a strong predilection for the church, but was deterred from taking orders by an unconquerable diffidence. He pursued his studies first at the Charter House School, in London, an institution venerable in the biographical history of English literature. It was here that he became acquainted with Steele, who was his intimate associate in the best literary labours of his life. Addison assisted Steele by some valuable papers in the Tatler, they jointly conducted the Spectator and Guardian, and were fast friends until the acrimony of political feeling dissolved a fellowship which had been endeared by a close congeniality of literary habits and matured through years of familiar intercourse. At the Charter House and at Oxford, Addison devoted himself to classical studies, especially the Latin poets. His Musa Anglicana was his first workit is distinguished by the peculiar excellencies of his own mind. He sent a copy of it to Boileau, who, it is said, had, until its reception, entertained a contemptuous opinion of the poetical powers of the English. A poem on one of the campaigns of the day, attracted to him the attention of the Court, and though no office was offered by the government, a pension of three hundred pounds a year was settled upon him by the crown, through the influence of Lord Somers, by which he was enabled to travel in France and Italy. It was during this tour that he wrote his Dialogues on Medals, and a considerable part of his Cato. He returned home in want, his pension having been suspended by the removal of his friends from power. His travels, which were soon after published, are devoted almost entirely to the topographical illustration of the Latin poets, and a comparison of the modern aspects of the country with their descriptions. A poetical piece procured him again the patronage of the government, and he was appointed Commissioner of Appeals; in two years he became Under Secretary of State, and subsequently accompanied to Ireland, as Secretary, the Lord Lieutenant; having at the same time a nominal office, with a salary of three hundred pounds a year. It was during his stay in Ireland, that his old friend Steele, started the Tatler. Steele attempted to write secretly, but Addison detected him by the appearance of an observation on Virgil, which the latter remembered to have communicated to him. In about a month afterwards Addison's first article was published in the Tatler. But a couple of months had elapsed after the ces sation of the Tatler, when the Spectator made its appearance. The commencement of this paper, with so ample a plan, after the discussion of almost every subject of manners and light literature in the Tatler, shows a remarkable confidence and boldness in the writers, but the eminent success of the attempt fully justified their courage. The conductors were not a little influenced by the party excitements of the day, and some of the earlier papers savour of their politics. It is said that a hearty whig preface, prefixed by Dr. Fleetwood to a volume of sermons, was inserted that it might be read by the Queen, who had the Spectator brought in regularly with her breakfast, and that the paper of that day was not published till twelve o'clock, (her breakfast hour,) in order that no time should be allowed to those about her to examine it, before it should be presented. His next work was the tragedy of Cato. It was acted in 1713, with great eclat. The political spirit of the times dictated the popular judgment of the stage, and this fact unquestionably gave to the Cato its splendid triumph. Says Johnson, “The Whigs applauded every line in which liberty was mentioned, as a satire on the Tories, and the Tories echoed every clap to show that the satire was unfelt." Sustained thus by a clamorous spirit, entirely uncongenial with just criticism, it was acted night after night, a greater number of times than had been the lot of any drama before on the London stage. Though this celebrated tragedy has been justly called "the most splendid of his works" yet as a drama it is seriously defective. "It is rather a poem in dialogue than a tragedy,” it wants the verisimilitude in its characters and that power of exciting solicitude, growing in intensity as the scenes revolve and consummating instead of evanescing in the denouement, which form the effective excellence of tragedy. Its popularity was, however, boundless, the Queen even sent a request that it might be dedicated to her, and it raised the author's fame at once to its acme. Its success on the stage was no doubt owing in a great measure to its reception the first night, when Steele, as he acknowledged himself, "packed the audience" for the purpose. At the same time the Guardian was started, which will come under review hereafter. Subsequently the Spectator was revived, but owing to the civil tumults of the times, with little success. Addison wrote more than a fourth of the papers which are distinguished by a larger proportion of religious subjects than any he had before written. The Freeholder was com menced in 1715. Though devoted to politics, it is adorned with many instances of his elegant humour, and is celebrated particularly for the fine character of the Tory Fox-hunter, perhaps not inferior to Roger de Coverly. "Bigotry itself," says Johnson, “must be delighted with it." The next year occurred his marriage with the Countess of Warwick, perhaps the most unhappy event of his life. He had been tutor to her son, and it was after a long courtship that he obtained her hand; the disproportion of their rank had its usual effect, and Addison's last years, we have reason to believe, were embittered by the worst of human afflictions. In 1717 he was elevated to the dignity of Secretary of State. He found himself entirely unfit for this station, being too diffident to defend the Government in the House of Commons, and, says Pope, "too fastdious in the use of fine expressions to issue with expedition the ordinary orders of his office." He retired with a pension of three hundred pounds. He devoted the remainder of his life to literary pleasures and labours. One of these, which was published after his decease, was a Defence of Christianity; it was not completed according to his original design. It is painful to record that the tranquillity of his closing days was interrupted by the political controversy which has been referred to, and which dissolved the cordial friendship that had so long bound him to his literary co-labourer, Steele. He died 1719, of asthma and dropsy. He called Lord Warwick, a profligate young nobleman, to his bedside, and said, "I have sent for you that you may see how a Christian can die ?" The virtues which had adorned his life and chastened his genius, shed their mild lustre on his final hours, and he sinks from our view more amiable, more admired than he appears to our contemplation, when conversing with him, through the beautiful, the refined productions of his pen. Chesterfield said, that " he was the most timorous and awkward man that he ever saw." Pope declares his conversation had "something in it more charming than I have found in any other man. But this was only when he was familiar; before strangers, or perhaps a single stranger, he preserved his dignity by a stiff silence." It was his extreme diffidence that interfered with his success in office, yet it gave him an air of amiability which won the esteem even of his enemies. Swift said, that "if he had asked for the crown it would have been given him without opposition." Written for the Lady's Book. A SONG OF MARION'S MEN. BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. "Sally St. Clair was a beautiful, dark-eyed Creole girl. The whole treasury of her love was poured out to Sergeant Jasper, who, on one occasion, had the good fortune to save her life. The prospect of their separation almost maddened her. To sever her long jetty ringlets from her exquisite head, to dress in male attire, to enrol herself in the corps to which he belonged, and follow his fortunes in the wars, unknown to him, was a resolution no sooner conceived than taken. In the camp she attracted no particular attention, except on the night before the battle, when she was noticed bending over his couch, like a good and gentle spirit, as if listening to his dreams. The camp was surprised, and a fierce conflict ensued. The lovers were side by side in the thickest of the fight; where, in endeavouring to turn away a lance aimed at the heart of Jasper, the poor girl received it in her own, and fell bleeding at his feet. After the victory, her name and sex were discovered, and there was not a dry eye in the corps when Sally St. Clair was laid in her grave, near the river Santee, in a green shady nook, that looked as if it had been stolen out of Paradise."-Tales of the Revolution. In the ranks of Marion's band, Mountain, plain and valley; A Southern maid, in all her pride, That e'en his eyes, Did not discover Sally! When return'd from midnight tramp, With that devoted, gentle fair, Whose large black eyes and flowing hair, That, in his dream, He breathes his love for Sally! Oh! what joy that maiden knew, When she found her lover true!- Marion's men to rally! To ward the death-spear from his side, Where sings the surge A ceaseless dirge, Near the lone grave of Sally! For the Lady's Book. MODERN ITALIAN NOVELS. BY MRS. E. F. ELLET. FALCO OF THE ROCK: THE CASTLE OF TREZZO: SIBILLA ODALETA: FOLCHETTO MALASPINA: THE PRISONERS OF PIZZIGHETTONE: THE PROSCRIBED: THE GENOESE BETROTHED: THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO. FALCO DELLA RUPE, or Falco of the Rock, is more properly a historical narrative than a romance; the greater portion of the book being occupied by the political intrigues and battles of the Marchese di Marignan, in the rebellion against his legitimate sovereign, Francesa Sforza, Duke of Milan. The ambitious prince is aided in his struggle to make himself an independent sovereign by a notorious pirate of the Lake of Como, who saved the life of his younger brother Gabriele di Medici, in an encounter with the Dukists on the lake, in the beginning of the tale. The love plot, if so it may be called, consists only in the birth and growth of a passion between the abovementioned Gabriel, a handsome and brave youth, and Rina, the beautiful daughter of the pirate Falco. When we first discern the mutual impression made on the heart of the lovers, we, of course, anticipate many difficulties and anxieties growing out of their different conditions in life, and the political storm in which they are involved. But there is none of all this; the loves of the youth and maiden are undis turbed by the interference naturally to be expected from the haughty elder brother; nay, the course might have run smooth even to the end, but for the unlucky chance of Gabriele's being killed in one of the Marchese's battles. There is no connexion whatever between the attachment of the young pair and the political incidents; the contemplation only serves to divert the attention awhile from the true hero, and the stirring events of the chieftain's treason. This is a heinous fault in a novel; but it is half redeemed by the vigorous and graphic delineations of the struggles between the party of Marignan, and that of the Duke; and the occasional touches of the manners and superstitions of the age are very happy. We would instance the scene of the death of Grampo, one of Falco's crew, the attempt of the monk to save the life of the wounded man by some miraculous water in which a nail from the true cross had been dipped, and the bitter execrations of the witch Imazza, the mother of the dead, against him who had been the innocent cause of his destruction. Altogether the work is superior to Il Castello di Trezzo, by the same author. The latter relates the treacherous imprisonment and murder, by Giovanni Galeazzo Visconti, Count of Vertù, of his kinsman Bernabo, who shared with him the government of a moiety of Lombardy. The book is chiefly occupied with the adventures of a young cavalier, Palamede de' Bianchi, in his endeavour to obtain access to the Lady Ginevra, the daughter of Bernabo, confined with her mother and brothers in the same castle with the unfortunate prince. After many disappointments and perils, in which he is assisted by the faithful Enzel, one of the Italian arioli, or gypsies, common in that age, he at length succeeds, by the intercession of a French prince whom he rescues opportunely from a band of robbers, in obtaining an order from Giovan Galeazzo for the release of his fair one. Poor Bernabo is poisoned; his remains have the honour of being interred with regal magnificence behind the high altar of the church of San Giovanni in Conca, beneath "a superb mausoleum, supported by six columns, on which is sculptured in white marble a horse, mounted by an armed cavalier-the image of Bernabo." The lovers are united after his death, but never visit the court of Visconti. The author of Sibilla Odaleta, and other fictions of the same general class, has by some been ranked next to Manzoni, on account of the vigour and cleverness of his sketches of past times, and the dramatic force with which many of his scenes are painted. His powers of description and dialogue, however, are not equalled by skill in constructing a story out of his materials; almost all his plots are badly managed. The incidents of his first novel, which he calls "An Episode of the Italian wars at the close of the fif. teenth century," are wild and improbable to the last degree; yet the book, especially the first part of it, is animated and interesting from his vivid pictures of the events and characters of the age. The epoch is the invasion of Naples by Charles VIII., and he gives us by the way sketches of Ludovico Il Moro of the city of Florence and the feelings of its inhabitants on the approach of the French monarch-of the wild and mysterious Savonarola-of the entrance of Charles into the city and his interview with the magistrates of the Republic—of the flight of the Neapo litan king, and his return to his dominions after the departure of the French. The following is a descrip tion of the coronation of Charles before leaving Italy. "It was towards the middle of May, and the dawn promised a day cloudless and brilliant. Scarcely had the sun's rays begun to gild the summits of the mountains, when countless multitudes thronged the streets, and besieged the doors of the cathedral, which was to be the scene of the solemnity. That massive Gothic edifice had been adorned with great magnifi cence for the occasion; entrance had been prohibited for many days to the curious, that no impediment might be placed in the way of the artizans, for whose labours scarce sufficient time was allowed. Great was the anxiety among the people to see the result of their efforts; but as soon as the doors were opened two companies of halberdiers, sheathed in armour of polished steel, disposed themselves so as to guard the entrance and keep back the crowd, and Swiss guards were arranged in files extending even to the altar's foot, ready for their assistance should it be required. These troops made a brilliant display, arrayed in the antique fashion, wearing scarlet mantles over their leathern vests and buskins; but the most singular spectacle was to be seen in the crowd itself. Some walked around the square, or crowded about the doors of the cathedral, waiting with impatience for 2 the royal cavalcade; others, assembled in groups near a pedestal on which once stood a statue of Tiberius, talked of the ceremony soon to take place, or the approacing tournament. Many discoursed of less important affairs; all accompanying their speech with the lively gesticulation peculiar to that dramatic people-capable of every generous action when liberated from the thraldom and darkness of ignorance. "After tedious expectation, the roar of cannon from Castle St. Elmo announced that the King of France had left the palace on his way to the church. Then the confusion became general. The cannons of the other fortresses responded to the signal; the peal of warlike instruments resounded from vessels anchored in the bay; the bells of all the churches were rung, and the people crowded the streets more eagerly where the procession was to pass. The 2 lancieri led the way, their pennons fluttering in the C. breeze; they were followed by the cuirassiers, whose armour flashed back the rays of the sun, dazzling all eyes; then five hundred Swiss infantry, and a thousand . Gascon soldiers preceded the twelve knights forming the body guard of the sovereign, who surrounded him, dressed in magnificent uniform. Charles himself, mounted on a superb horse of the Norman breed, covered with trappings of velvet and gold, rode majestically in the midst. He wore no cuirass or helmet as when he entered Florence; but a sumptuous mantle of crimson velvet, studded with points of gold and bordered with ermine, fell in graceful folds from his shoulders. An under vest of white silk, wrought with flowers in the Chinese fashion, covered his breast, on which sparkled the badges of various knightly orders, chief among them that of St. Michael. His breeches of white silk were terminated by yellow leathern buskins, garnished at the heel with the golden spurs indicative of his rank. At his right hand rode Brissonet, attired in the rich dress suitable to the eminent dignity conferred on him a few months before in Rome, by Pope Alexander. The splendour of his purple robe over his tunic embroidered with gold, displayed to advantage his noble person and features, which he knew how to invest with the imposing majesty of a church dignitary. His right hand, resplendent with precious jewels, was slowly raised as he bestowed benedictions upon the people. company dismounted, and leaving their horses to the care of the squires, entered in the order prescribed by etiquette. They were met by the Archbishop, arrayed with ecclesiastical pomp in the sacerdotal robes, who led the king towards the throne prepared at the right of the great altar. As the monarch touched the railing, the officials who had accompanied him thither stopped, yielding the honour to the Italian barons, since it was not as king of the French Charles was received within the sanctuary, but as king of the Neapolitans. Only Brissonet as Cardinal, and Gilbert Monpensier as Viceroy, were admitted with him, and sat upon the seats prepared in honour of their rank, by the side of the monarch. The king ascended the throne, and the ensigns of royalty were presented to him; then the oath of allegiance was administered in due form, first to the clergy, next to the representatives of the kingdom, the nobility, and finally, to various corporations of the second and third orders. During this somewhat lengthened ceremony, a select band of musicians without, made the vaults of the cathedral echo, and from the piazza military companies responded with their gorgeous symphony, that would have suited a day of battle. The pulpit was then occupied by the orator who spoke in the name of the people; and this harangue concluded, with other ceremonies too tedious to describe, the new sovereign made ready to return to his palace, whence, having changed his dress after a brief rest he was to depart for the amphitheatre prepared for the tournay." Folchetto Malaspina exhibits in a certain degree the same beauties, with nearly the same defects, which are prominent in Sibilla Odaleta. The time is the twelfth century, during the period of the famous confederation of the Lombard cities, at the head of which was Milan in the struggle against Frederic Barbarossa. The love scenes are but slenderly connected with the incidents of the tale and with the catastrophe; indeed the hero might as well have been a resolute Benedict, for aught that his amourette has to do with the plot. The three volumes are filled with his adventures in endeavouring to avenge the wrong done to his sister, by a false marriage, upon the profligate Guglielmo, his rival in politics and love. His formal challenge of his enemy at a banquet of Guglielmo's own adherents-the scene of the duel-the cowardice of Guglielmo, and their preconcerted interruption by the aged hermit, who forbids the fight-the public insult afterwards hurled upon the villain by Folchetto, in presence of the clergy, the nobles, and the people; and finally, his generous pardon of his humiliated and captive foe, are drawn in the most lively and picturesque colours. A new order, or profession is introduced to our notice in the course of the narrative; one, the author tells us, long afterwards common in Sardinia; the Accabaduri, or people whose trade it was to abridge the sufferings of the old or the infirm, by the summary process of knocking them on the head, from which action their caste took its name. woman of this class figures largely in the story. She has wandered from Sardinia to the scene of the novel, and though athirst for human blood, is opportunely bound by a debt of gratitude and a vow, to rescue and serve Folchetto. She not only informs him where to find the false certificate of his sister's marriage, but duly advises him, after the siege and capitulation of Tortona, that the convents are to be "Arrived at the great door of the cathedral, the sacked by Frederic's troops-thus giving him time to "It was customary in those days for the king's dwarf to be ever seen at the left hand of his master; but Charles on this occasion deemed it prudent to dispense with the arrangement, desirous that nothing approaching to the ludicrous should diminish the solemnity. He was aware that in Florence the perpetual vicinity of the buffoon, who always assumed a comic air of importance, had contributed in no slight degree to remove from the minds of the spectators the awe excited by his name and presence. Therefore in place of the dwarf rode Gilbert de Monpensier, who was appointed to remain in Naples in his quality of Lieutenant of the kingdom. Behind him followed the Grand Constable D'Obigni, and the Seneschal De Dabari; followed in their turn by the nobles according to their rank. Two hundred Swiss soldiers made up the retinue, and with their heavy weapons kept back the multitude. The music of drum and trumpet filled the air, mingled with the peal of bells and the roar of ordnance; these, with the stunning acclamations of the people, formed a confusion of sounds more readily imagined than described. A rescue his sister and his lady love from the fury of the rosity pledges himself to assist in vindicating the soldiery. The story of I Prigionieri di Pizzighettone, (The Prisoners of Pizzighettone) is yet more incoherent, and unequal in style. There is a total want of connexion in the fate of the two "Prisoners," one of whom is no less a person than Francis the First, and the other a Spanish lady of some celebrity. The French king, however, and his warlike nobles, and the celebrated astrologer Cornelius Agrippa, are vigorously sketched. The monarch is made to be beloved most romantically by a half crazed girl, on whom our author has bestowed the faculty of second sight; and who translates Moore's lines, "I never loved a tree nor flower," &c., without deigning to give the poet the credit of the original. The first volume closes with the battle of Pavia; the novel ends with the death of the second sighted girl and the removal of the captive Francis to Spain. The next romance of our author introduces us into a country new to the novelist; to wit-the island of Sardinia. Il Proscritto (the Proscribed,) with another Sardinian novel-Preziosa di Sanluri, is designed to present something like a complete picture of the manners of the men and women of that island; the latter of the Sard mountaineers, as the former of the more civilized citizens. Both contain striking scenes and graphic representations of natural scenery, and ancient ceremonies; "hair breadth 'scapes" and imminent perils by sea and land also abound. The story is told by a gentleman, Brunetto by name, who on the death of an uncle resident in Sardinia, is sent to that island from Genoa by his father, to divide with another uncle the patrimony of the deceased. He finds on board the vessel a mysterious youth, who repels all advances towards acquaintance, yet gives Brunetto some advice respecting the division of the estate. The youth is landed upon one of the small islands on the Sardinian coast. Our hero proceeds to his uncle's castle, where having nothing else to do, while waiting for the settlement of his affairs, he falls in love with his beautiful cousin Helen. But his hopes are speedily checked by the information that her affections are already engaged. He remarks also that a vacant chair is always set at his uncle's table; endeavours in vain to find out from his male cousins the meaning of this strange custom, but at last obtains an explanation from Helen. Her elder brother had been murdered a year or two before by unknown assassins. The men who brought home the body, swore that they had seen him fall by the hand of Naborre a youth in the neighbourhood, who had once saved her father's life, between whom and her brother there had been some slight dispute. The family and connexions of the deceased take an oath to revenge his death; and there was an old Sardinian superstition that till such an oath was accomplished, the shade of the murdered man would continue to haunt his former residence, and sit at the table with his surviving relatives. Helen, however, is certain of the innocence of Naborre; (Sardinian names are not particularly euphonious!) it is to him she has given her heart, and Brunetto, by her description, soon recognises him as the mysterious youth seen on his passage from Genoa. Naborre has been tried by the civil authorities for the murder; but in the lack of sufficient evidence to convict him, has merely been banished, under the penalty of death if he should return to the island. Brunetto with chivalrous gene innocence of the persecuted lover of Helen, and in bringing the real assassins to punishment. He goes to Naborre's retreat; and, by the help of another friend, possessed of the faculty of ventriloquism, they succeed in detecting the criminals, a band of robbers in the vicinity. One of these bandits, dangerously wounded, is neglected by his companions; and with him the ventriloquist, concealed in the cave, plays the part of conscience, by whispering in his ear unseen; finally inducing him to confess the whole tale of guilt. The story ends with the restoration of the Proscribed, and his union with the lovely Helen. The imitations of Scott are very evident in these volumes; both in the sketch of the uncle and his sons, and the character of Helen, who is drawn after Diana Vernon. The description of the fishing on the island of San Pietro is picturesque in the highest degree. The incidents succeed in natural order; the interest is well sustained till the discovery of the assassins, when the details become tedious. Altogether it is a weaker production than most of the author's novels. La Fidanzata Ligure (the Genoese Betrothed) is a story of the present day, designed, says the author, to illustrate "the customs, manners, and character of the inhabitants of the Riviera of Genoa;" a beautiful region of country. The plot is simple. A young Spanish nobleman, Velasco by name, comes to the Riviera to seek a young lady whom he had met and loved in Spain-Ida Contarini, the daughter of a rich Genoese merchant. The maiden has been informed that there are objections on the part of Velasco's father, a proud old Spanish grandee, to his son's union with one who cannot boast equally ancient parentage-and too proud to enter a family reluctant to receive her-determines to separate from her lover. She cannot, however, forget him; a meeting takes place; but their reconciliation is again prevented by the interference of a mysterious stranger “in a dark mantel"—who afterwards turns out to be the agent of a Spanish marchioness, enamoured of Velasco, whose jealousy occasioned all the former difficulties, and who has employed this Garzia to prevent the union of the young pair. Garzia is executed for the murder of a fellow knave; and the obstacles to the happiness of Ida and Velasco removed-the romance ends selon la regle. The pictures of costumes and manners are not a little entertaining. There minute and interesting description of the villa Contarini, and of the family mansion, within and without; no doubt a correct sketch of the residence and the habits of a parvenu gentleman, who en deavours by splendour to conceal his want of pretensions on the score of descent. Ida the heroine, writes sentimental letters to her confidante, and solaces her leisure hours with the writings of Richardson, Sterne, Byron, "Valter Scott," and others, whom she quotes frequently with an air of something very like pedantry. We cannot say we found "the tissue of her story" nor that of "the dark mantel" particularly interesting. a On the whole, the author of "Sibilla Odaleta" and the novels succeeding, has displayed sufficient ability to induce us to expect from him in the future something better than any work he has yet produced. If he but knew how to make the most of his materials, like Manzoni, nothing could prevent his rising to an equal station. He possesses considerable power of |