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was very near them; but went on, crying out aloud, “Fly not. ye cowards, and vile caitiffs, for it is a single knight who assaults you!" The wind now rising a little, the great sails began to move; upon which Don Quixote called out, " Although ye should move more arms than the giant Briareus, ye shall

pay for it!”

Then recommending himself devoutly to his lady, Dulcinea, beseeching her to succor him in the present danger, being well covered with his huckler, and setting his lance in the rest, he rushed on as fast as Rozinante could gallop, and attacked the first mill before him ; when, running his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it about with so much violence, that it broke the lance to shivers, dragging horse and rider after it, and tumbling them over and over on the plain, in very evil plight. Sancho Panza hastened to his assistance, as fast as the ass could carry him; and when he came up to his master, he found him unable to stir, so violent was the blow which he and Rozinante had received in their fall. “God save me!" quoth Sancho; "did not I warn you to have a care of what you did, for that they were nothing but windmills ? And nobody could mistake them, but one that had the like in his head.” – Peace, friend San. cho!" answered Don Quixote; “for matters of war are, of all others, most subject to continual change. Now, I verily believe, and it is most certainly the fact, that the sage Freston, who stole away my chamber and books, has metamorphosed these giants into windmills, on purpose to deprive me of the glory of vanquishing them, so great is the enmity he bears me! But his wicked arts will finally avail but little against the goodness of my sword!” “God grant itt" answered Sancho Panza; then helping him to rise, he mounted him again upon his steed, which was almost disjointed.

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[Translated from the Spanish.] THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA.

A MOORISH BALLAD. - Author and date unknown. « RISE

up, Xarifa ! lay the golden cushion down ; Rise up! come to the window, and gaze with all the town!

up, rise

From gay guitar and violin the golden notes are flowing,
And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpets loudly

blowing; And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats

proudly in the air. Rise up,

rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up! come to the window, and gaze with all the town!

Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face,
He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace;
Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely, never.
Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with

white, I guess 't was wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night. Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;

, Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!

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“ What aileth thee, Xarifa ? what makes thine eyes look

down? Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town? I've heard you say, on many a day, — and sure you said the

truth, Andalla rides without a peer 'mong all Grenada's youth. Without a peer he rideth,- - and


milk-white horse doth go, Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow. Then rise, oh, rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Unseen here through the lattice you may gaze with all the


The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,
Nor came she to the window, to gaze with all the town;
But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers

And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove.
One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh;
That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow dropping from her eye.

“No, no!” she sighs, ." bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion

down, To gaze upon Andalla, with all the gazing town!”

“Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down? Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town? Hear, hear the trumpet, how it swells, and how the people cry! He stops at Zara's palace gate, - why sit ye still, -oh, why ?” At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I discover The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth, with tears, and was

my lover!

I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze on false Andalla, with all the gazing town!”

[Translated from the Spanish.]



“My ear-rings ! my ear-rings! they've dropped into the well, And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell;" 'Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez's daugh.

ter “The well is deep, - far down they lie, beneath the cold blue

water; To me did Muja give them, when he spoke his sad farewell, And what to say, when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.

“My ear-rings ! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set, That, when

Moor was far away,

I ne'er should him forget ; That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's

tale, But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings

pale. When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in

the well, O! what will Muça think of me? I cannot, cannot tell !

“My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! - he'll say they should have

been, Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere; That changing mind unchanging gems are not befitting well; Thus will he think, — and what to say, alas ! I cannot tell !

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" He'll think, when I to market went, I loitered by the way;
He'll think, a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say ;
He 'll think, some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed,
From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl

He'll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well,
My pearls fell in, — and what to say, alas! I cannot tell !

He 'll


I am a woman, and we are all the same; He 'll say I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame,But, when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token. My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! ah! luckless, luckless well ! For what to say to Muça — alas! I cannot tell !

“I'll tell the truth to Muça, — and I hope he will believe, –
That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve;
That, musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,
His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone;
And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my

hand they fell, And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the

well !”

A LESSANDRO MANZONI Is one of the most celebrated of modern Italian writers. I Promessi Sposi, The Betrothed, from which the following extract is taken, is spoken of in enthusiastic terms by his countrymen.

[Translated from the Italian.] DESCRIPTION OF THE PLAGUE AT MILAN. Two thirds of the inhabitants being, by this time, carried off, not one individual would be met with in whom something strange was not apparent. Men of the highest rank might be seen without cape or cloak, priests without cassocks, friars without cowls; in short, all kinds of dress were dispensed with, which could contract anything in fluttering about. Their persons were neglected, — their beards grown much longer, their hair long and undressed. The greater number carried perfumed pastils, or little balls of metal or wood, perforated and filled with sponges steeped in aromatic vinegar, which they applied to their noses. Some carried a small vial, containing a little quicksilver, persuaded that this possessed the virtue of absorbing and arresting *every pestilential effluvia. Even friends, when they met in the streets alive, saluted each other at a distance, with silent and hasty signs. Every one, as he walked along, had enough to do to avoid the filthy and deadly stumbling-blocks with which the ground was strewn, and, in some places, even encumbered. Every one tried to keep the middle of the road, for fear of some other obstacle, some other more fatal weight, which might fall from the windows. *

At the entrance of one of the most spacious streets, Renzo perceived four carts standing in the middle; and as, in a cornmarket, there is a constant hurrying to and fro of people, and an emptying and filling of sacks, such was the bustle here; monatti intruding into houses, monatti coming out, bearing a burden


their shoulders, which they placed upon one or the other of the carts; some in red livery, others without that distinction, many with another still more odious, – plumes and cloaks of various colors, which these miserable wretches wore in the midst of the general mourning, as if in honor of a festival. From time to time, the mournful cry resounded from one of the windows, “ Here, monatti !And, with a still more wretched sound, a harsh voice rose in reply, “Coming directly.” *

There appeared, from behind the corner of a church, a man ringing a little bell, and behind him two horses, which, stretch



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