love. The Yankee evinced his admiration by an unassuming but unvarying devotion. If Angelica dropped her fan, he was ever the one to restore it; was the evening chill, he always thought of her shawl, and often his dinner grew cold upon his neglected plate, while he was attending to her wants. One day her album was circulated. Don Carlo, the Neapolitan, wrote a page of glowing protestations, asserting his inextinguishable love. Monsieur Jacques, in the neatest chirography, declared that the recent voyage had been the happiest of his life, and his present confinement more delightful than mountain liberty, in the company of so perfect a nymph. Delano simply declared, that the sweet virtues of Angelica sanctified her beauty to his memory and heart.

There are some excellent creatures in this world, whose lives seem to conduce to every body's happiness but their own. Such an one was the donna Paolina. Affable and engaging, and with a clear and cultivated mind, she lacked the personal loveliness of her sisters, and yet rejoiced in it as if it were her own. No one could remain long in the society of the two, without perceiving that the confidence between them was perfect, and found. ed on that mutual adaptation which we but occasionally behold, even in the characters of those allied by the ties of a common parentage. To this kind-hearted girl I discovered that the lovers had separately applied for counsel and support in the prosecution of their suits. Don Carlo begged her to warn her sister against the advances of the Frenchman, as he knew him to be a thorough hypocrite; and Monsieur Jacques returned the compliment, by as

suring her that the Neapolitan was by no means sufficiently refined and accomplished to be the companion of so delicate a creature as Angelica. Young Jonathan, with a more manly policy, so won the esteem of Paolina, by dwelling upon the excellencies of her sister, that she became his unwavering advocate. I confess that as the appointed period of durance drew to a close, I began to feel anxious as to the result of all this dallying with the tender passion. I saw that Monsieur was essentially selfish in his suit, and that vanity was its basis. It was evident that the Neapolitan was stimulated by one of those ardent and sudden partialities, which are as capricious as the flashes of a volcano, and often as temporary. In truth, there was not enough of the spirit of sacrifice, or vital attachment, in their love, to warrant the happiness of the gentle being whose outward charms alone had captivated their senses. Delano, I knew, was sincere, and my fears were, that his future peace was involved in the result. At length the last evening of our quarantine had arrived. Mons. Jacques had played over, as usual, all her favorite airs on his guitar, and Carlo had just fervently recited a glowing passage from some Italian poet, descriptive of a lover's despair, when sunset, playing through the bars of our window, reminded us that the cool hour of the day was at hand, when it was our custom to walk in the outer court. As we went forth, there was that eloquently sad silence, with which even the most thoughtless engage in an habitual employment for the last time. No one anticipated me in securing the companionship of the sweet child of nature, whose beauty and gentleness had

brightened to us all, so many days of pilgrimage and confinement; and I determined to improve it, by ascertaining, if possible, the probable snccess of my poor friend. I spoke of the many pleasant hours we had passed together, of that social sympathy which had cheered and consoled, and asked her if even those narrow walls would not be

left with regret. 'Consider,' said I, 'you will no more be charmed with the exquisite elegance of Monsieur Jacques-she looked up to see if I really thought her capable of being interested by such conventional gracesor be enlivened,' I continued, 'by the enthusiastic converse of Don Carlo'-she smiled-or know,' I added, with a more serious and searching glance, the affectionate and gifted society of Delano '—a tear filled her eye, but the smile assumed a brighter meaning. I looked up, and he was before us, gazing from one to the other, with an expression of joyful inquiry, which flashed the happiest conviction on my mind. The passionate Neapolitan had flattered, and the genteel Frenchman had amused, but the faithful Yankee had won the heart of Angelica De Falco.

FLORENCE REVISITED.

"Florence, beneath the sun
Of cities, fairest one."

Shelley.

WE had been riding all night along the Arno, whose turgid waters were shrunk to half their usual dimensions, by the intense heat of midsummer. Dawn was gradually unveiling the heavens, and spreading a soft, silvery light over the landscape, as we drew near the termination of our journey. The vines, by the road-side, stirred cheerfully in the morning breeze, and as one after another of their broad leaves was uplifted, the mossy boughs of the mulberry.trees upon which they are festooned, were momentarily revealed, brightened by the grateful dew. The full grain beneath them, bowed by its own weight, glistened with the same moisture, condensed in chrystals upon its bended tops; and to vary the rich carpet so lavishly spread over the earth, a patch of lupens or artichokes, occasionally appeared, from amid which, rose the low, grey olive, or thin poplar of Tuscany. Sometimes a few dwarf

ed pines indicated the site of ancient woods, long since extirpated by the genius of Agriculture, or some remnant of an ancient wall marked the old feudal boundaries of the landholders. A still more interesting memorial of those times exists farther back, in the shape of a picturesque tower, celebrated on account of its having been taken by a curious stratagem. Lights were appended to the horns of a flock of goats, which, in the night, appeared like an army, and frightened away the besieged. Early as was the hour, a large group of poor women, spinning flax, were awaiting at the gate of a villa, the customary alms of its proprietor; and often a bend in the river brought us in view of several men dragging a heavily laden barge through its narrow channel. As the day broke, we came in sight of Florence. The mighty dome of its cathedral-that noble monument of the genius of Brunelleschi, and the graceful tower by its side, rose from the mass of dense buildings, like a warrior of the middle ages, and a fair devotee of some more peaceful epoch, standing in the centre, to guard and hallow the city. Far around the walls, spread the hills with a fertile beauty and protecting grace, and through the midst wound the Arno, gleaming in the morning sun. It is a curious feeling-that with which we revisit an Italian city, familiar and endeared to our memory. There are none of those striking local changes, which startle the absentee on his return to the New World. The outward scene is the same; but what revolutions may not his own feelings have undergone, since he last beheld it! How may experience have subdued enthusiasm, and suffering chastened hope!