with equal wonder and admiration, a young woman--a young sovereign-a young wife-a young mother-acting, not on a mere impulse, but with calm and considerate courage, and sense of duty, which would have done honour to the bravest and most experienced of her ancestors, and meeting a fore-known danger with no other fear than that of exposing her attendants to a risk which she felt it her own personal duty to disregard. History may be suspected of romancing on the theme of Edward and Eleanor; it does justice to George III., and will do so to Louis Philippe-all subjected to somewhat similar trials; but we cannot hesitate to say that nothing in ancient or modern story can exceed the amiable magnanimity, the gentle heroism of Queen Victoria, as attested by the indisputable evidence of the recent trial for High Treason.

Soon after the attack on King George the royal family paid that visit to Oxford, where, to do her justice, she seems to have almost forgotten herself in the enthusiasm which His Majesty's appearance after his recent danger lighted up:

'The theatre was filled with company, all well-dressed, and arranged in rows around it. The area below them was entirely empty, so that there was not the least confusion. The Chancellor's chair, at the head of about a dozen steps, was prepared for the King; and just below him, to his left, a form for the Queen and the Prin

cesses.

"The King walked foremost from the area, conducted by the University's Vice-Chancellor. The Queen followed, handed by her own Vice-Chamberlain. The Princess-Royal followed, led by the King's Aide-de Camp, General Harcourt; and Princess Augusta, leaning on Major Price. Princess Elizabeth walked alone, no other servant of the King being present, and no rank authorising such a conduct, without office.

'Next followed the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough; then the Duchess of Ancaster, and Marquis of Blandford; next, Lord and Lady Harcourt, then the two Lady Spencers and Lady Charlotte Bertie, then the Miss Vernons, and then Miss Planta and a certain F. B.

We were no sooner arranged, and the door of the theatre shut, than the King, his head covered, sat down; the Queen did the same, and then the three Princesses. All the rest, throughout the theatre, stood. The Vice-Chancellor then made a low obeisance to the King, and, producing a written paper, began the Address of the

University, to thank his Majesty for this second visit, and to congratulate him and the nation on his late escape from assassination. He read it in an audible and distinct voice; and in its conclusion an address was suddenly made to the Queen, expressive of much concern for her late distress, and the highest and most profound veneration for her amiable and exalted character.

The Queen could scarcely bear it, though she had already, I doubt not, heard it at Nuneham, as these addresses must be first read in private, to have the answers prepared. Nevertheless, this public tribute of loyalty to the King, and of respect to herself, went gratefully to her heart, and filled her eyes with tears which she would not, however, encourage, but, smiling through them, disper sed them with her fan, with which she was repeatedly obliged to stop their course down her cheeks. The Princesses, less guarded, the moment their father's danger was mentioned, wept with but little control; and no wonder, for I question if there was one dry eye in the theatre. The tribute, so just, so honourable, so elegant, paid to the exalted character of the Queen, affected everybody, with joy for her escape from affliction, and with delight at the reward, and the avowal of her virtues. When the address was ended, the King took a paper from Lord Ilarcourt, and read his answer. The King reads admirably; with ease, feeling, and force, and without any hesitation. His voice is particularly full and fine. I was very much surprised by its effect. When he had done, he took off his hat, and bowed to the Chancellor and Professors, and delivered the answer to Lord Harcourt, who, walking backwards, descended the stairs, and presented it to the Vice-Chancellor."

:

'After this, the Vice-Chancellor and Professors begged for the honour of kissing the King's hand. Lord Harcourt was again the backward messenger; and here followed a great mark of goodness in the King he saw that nothing less than a thorough-bred old courtier, such as Lord Harcourt, could walk backwards down these steps, before himself, and in sight of so full a hall of spectators; and he therefore dispensed with being approached to his seat, and walked down himself into the area, where the Vice-Chancellor kissed his hand, and was imitated by every Professor and Doctor in the room.' -vol. iii. pp. 95-97.

We wish Miss Burney could have given us more of such scenes as these, instead of her squabbles with the Turbulents, and the Schwellenbergs. We have already intimated that, though living in the same house and in daily intercourse with their Majesties, her station did not enable her to form any part of their society; but still a woman of observation and sagacity might, if not wholly absorbed in self-admiration, have

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given us, without any undue betrayal of private confidence, or any deficiency in duty to her royal patrons, many more valuable anecdotes than the few which these pages afford. We fully admit that in all she says of the royal family, her narration is in better taste than any other portion of her Diary. We only lament that, talking so much, she says so little; and finding all the pages of the third volume so studded with the names of the King and Queen, we really have not been able to extract anything more interesting than we have presented to our readers.

The result of all is that we are conscientiously obliged to pronounce these three volumes to be-considering their bulk and pretensions-nearly the most worthless we have ever waded through, and that we do not remember in all our experience to have laid down an unfinished work with less desire for its continuation. That it may not mend as it proceeds, we cannot-where there is such room for improvement-venture to pronounce; and there is thus much to be said for it, that it can hardly grow worso

(QUARTERLY REVIEW.)

THE REVENGE.

FROM THE WANDERINGS OF A PAINTER IN ITALY. »

BY E. V. RIPPINGILLE.

Ar the door of an Italian shepherd's hut, or capana, upon a low stone bench, sat a young man of about five-and-twenty years of age. A dark, sullen, and ferocious expression, mixed with the manifestation of a feeling of a very different kind, was strongly marked upon his face, and shown in the lassitude and position of his body and limbs. He was a short, and rather a strong-made man, with a complexion exceedingly swarthy, and hair intensely black and abundant, covering his cheeks, neck, and breast. His head was uncovered, his hair in disorder, a red night-cap lay at his side, as if carelessly thrown down; his legs and feet were bare, and, saving a pair of blue calzone and a coarse shirt, he was undressed, and looked as if he had just risen from his bed.

There was a person near him, who seemed busily employed, passing backwards and forwards, in and out of the capana. This was a woman of about fifty, who appeared to have been deeply-touched with sorrow, but who had evidently once been exceedingly handsome. She was very tall; and there was a stately movement and character about her, which ar

rested attention. Her hair and complexion were like those of the young man, who was her son; but, otherwise, there was but little resemblance between them. Her costume was that very commonly worn in Italy: a busta, or close-fitting stay, made of old-fashioned silk brocade or damask, stiffened and ornamented, to which her manichini, or sleeves, were attached at the shoulders with bunches of ribbons, now pendant and faded. She wore a petticoat, thickly plaited, of a dusky and very peculiar red; and on her feet the sciocce; her dark and abundant mass of hair, hanging in thick tresses, was looped up, and held together with the spadina, or silver bodkin, in the shape of a sword,-often a perilous weapon in disputes between the dark daughters of Italy.

She appeared to partake of the feelings which were so evidently betrayed by her son; hers were the same, roused into action, and made subservient to the demands of domestic duties:-a faculty, by the way, possessed in a greater degree by the female than the male sex. She now held in one hand her son's sciocce, and the cloth leggings worn with them. These she threw at his feet; she then stepped back into the hut, and returned with his hat, which she put down at his side. After having gone in again, she appeared at the door, bringing the long and terrible knife, half-sheathed, with which the brigands were always armed. After a moment's steady and stern gaze at the young man, who still seemed unconscious of her presence, she said, in a deep and firm voice, «Gaetano, rouse yourself.

Mother," said the man, slowly raising himself, so as to sit up, I don't sleep. »

"

"

Sleep, she

« Shame upon you, if you did!» » was the woman's reply, her eyes flashing, and her colour heightening. muttered, as if speaking to herself, not sleep; rouse yourself, my boy. and nothing done. Dress yourself, fortune. »

no, we can't-we must There is the sun again, and once more try your

Applying the point of the weapon to her thumb, and feeling along its edge, she said, «What have you done to your knife, my son?-it ought not to be in this condition. It

VOL. IV.

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