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Capon!" echoed the ghost of a servant

"the

"Has not the rascal sent it?" cried the master. "Rascal!" repeated the man, apparently ter

rified.

"I knew he would not," exclaimed my patron, with an air of exultation for which I saw no cause ; "well, well, never mind, put down the ham and the wine, with those and the rice, I dare say, young gentleman, you will be able to make it out.—I ought to apologize-but in fact it is all your own fault that there is not more; if I had fallen in with you earlier, we should have had a better dinner."

I confess I was surprised, disappointed, and amused; but, as matters stood, there was no use in complaining, and accordingly we fell to, neither of us wanting the best of all sauces-appetite.

I soon perceived that my promised patron had baited his trap with a fowl to catch a fool; but as we ate and drank, all care vanished, and, rogue as I suspected him to be, my long-tailed friend was a clever witty fellow, and, besides telling me a number of anecdotes, gave me some very good advice; amongst other things to be avoided, he cautioned me against numbers of people who, in Venice, lived only by duping the unwary. I

thought this counsel came very ill from him. "Above all," said he, "keep up your spirits, and recollect the Venetian proverb, Cento anni di malinconia non pagerà un soldo de' debiti.”—“ A "A hundred years of melancholy will not pay one farthing of debt."

After we had regaled ourselves upon my ham and wine, we separated; he desired me to meet him the following morning at the coffee-house, and told me he would give me a ticket for the private theatre of Count Pepoli, where I should see a comedy admirably acted by amateurs; and in justice to my long-tailed friend, I must say, he was punctual, and gave me the ticket, which, however, differed from a boiled capon in one respect-he got it gratis.

Having obtained this passport, I dressed myself, and went to the parterre, which was filled with elegant company. The play was "La Vedova Scaltra," in which the Count Pepoli displayed much talent. However, I had no heart, no spirit for amusement, and sat mournful and moneyless, in the midst of splendour and gaiety, without hope or resource, and careless of what became of me; I was contrasting the past with the present, and the prospect before me, and repeating to myself Dante's expressive lines, "Non v'è nessun maggiore

dolore che di ricordarsi del tempo felice quando siam nella miseria," when I perceived the eyes of a lady and gentleman, who were at the upper part of the parterre, fixed on me, as if they were speaking of me. At the end of the play, the gentleman approached me, and said, “ Sir, the lady who is with me, and who is my wife, requests to speak to you." I went, and she said to me, "I rather think, Sir, you are the young Englishman (which I was called in Venice), who was engaged at St. Moise, as tenor singer."

"I am that unfortunate personage, Madam," said I.

She then introduced herself to me as La Signora Benini, a name well known all over Italy, as that of the first comic singer and actress of the day. She told me that she was going to set off for Germany in a few days, being engaged as prima buffa, for the autumn and carnival at Gratz, the capital of Styria. She had that morning received a letter from the manager, acquainting her that Signor Germoli, who was engaged as first tenor singer, had disappointed him, and eloped to Russia sans cérémonie; at the same time authorizing her to engage any person capable, in her opinion, of filling his place. "Now, Signor O'Kelly," (for, at Naples, Father Dolphin tacked an O to my name,) said the lady, "I wish to offer

you this engagement; come and take chocolate with us to-morrow morning, and we will talk the matter over."

Here was a change! ten minutes before, a beggar, in a strange country, plunged in despair; now, first tenor of the Gratz theatre; at least it was as completely settled in my mind, as if the articles had been actually signed; and, with a bounding heart, I returned home to my late miserable bed, and slept—Oh, ye Gods, how I slept!

I was punctual the following morning; exactly at ten I was set down by a gondola at the house of Signora Benini, on the Canale Maggiore. The Signora received me at her toilette; where she was braiding up a profusion of fine black hair. I thought her handsome at the play the night before, but the Italian women all contrive to look well by candlelight; nature gives them good features, and they take care to give themselves good complexions. But Signora Benini wanted not "the foreign aid of ornament;" her person was petite, and beautifully formed; her features were good, and she had a pair of brilliant expressive eyes. After breakfast, she requested me to sing. I sang my favourite rondo, "Teco resti, anima mia." She appeared pleased, and said she had no doubt of my success. The terms, she said, were to be two hundred zecchinos for the autumn

and carnival, and to be lodged free of expense; at the same time, she offered me a seat in her carriage, and to pay my expenses to Gratz. "Hear this, ye Gods, and wonder how ye made her!" For fear of accidents, I signed the engagement before I left the house.

I passed a couple of hours with the Signora delightfully; she possessed all the Venetian vivacity and badinage, together with great good sense and much good nature. I related my adventure with my knight of the long-tail, told her of the capon, the Cyprus wine, &c.; which amused her greatly. It seemed she knew his character well: in his younger days he had been by turns, an actor and a poet, and was at that time supposed to be a spy in the pay of the police; one of those whom I had been specially advised most carefully to avoid; indeed, she counselled me to be cautious but not to slight him; he might be a negative friend, but if offended, a positively dangerous enemy. "Remember the proverb," said the Signora, “let sleeping dogs lie; they may rise and bite you." While recounting the disbursements which I had made in the purchase of the repast, she observed that I was reduced to my last zecchino, and in the kindest manner advanced me some money on account.

I was now at the very summit of prosperity in my own opinion; but one cannot enjoy happiness