man fell at the feet of his assassins, exclaiming, "Traitors! ungrateful traitors * !”

When the Neapolitans learnt the news of Masaniello's death, they flew to arms, and fought with the fury of men on the last verge of despair. The viceroy yielded to the first impulses of their rage, but the sudden appearance of a Spanish fleet threw the insurgents into consternation. The citadels and shipping commenced a tremendous cannonade on the city, and a thousand Spanish infantry landed and commenced a regular assault. The people, who had chosen the Duke of Guise to fill the station of Masaniello, at first obtained some advantages over the Spaniards; but the wild and ill-directed movements of their rage could not long avail against the discipline of veteran troops, and the Duke of Arcos at length obtained a triumphant restoration to his authority, which was followed by increased severity of conduct.

Still, when urged beyond their power of forbearance by the ministers of Spanish tyranny, the Neapolitans would sometimes mutter, under their breath, "Masaniello is not dead!" meaning to imply that his spirit of freedom still animated their hearts a warning which was never heard by the Spaniards without dismay.

* Life of Salvator Rosa.

with frenzy, his language became wild and incoherent, his natural gentleness and mercy disappeared, and amid his ravings he gave orders for the seizure and death of friends and enemies. It was found necessary to bind and confine him. This: melancholy event was hailed by the viceroy as an omen of triumph. When Masaniello was restored for a short time to reason, he became aware of his sad change, and of his unfitness to continue the champion of Neapolitan liberty. He went to church, and after the service he arose to speak to the people, who were hushed into the deepest silence to catch every syllable of his parting words. He was charging them to remember how hard he had struggled for them, when his frenzy suddenly returned, his features became convulsed, he fell struggling to the earth, and was carried off by two monks, who placed him on a bed in one of their cells. This was the moment seized on by the viceroy's minions who had been hired to assassinate Masaniello at the first convenient opportunity. They roused him from the sleep into which he was sinking by calling on his name; and Masaniello, believing himself invoked by his countrymen, started to his feet in momentary possession of his faculties, demanding, in his usual gentle tone,

66

My people, do you seek me?" A discharge of fire-arms was the only answer, and the unfortunate

man fell at the feet of his assassins, exclaiming, "Traitors! ungrateful traitors * !”

When the Neapolitans learnt the news of Masaniello's death, they flew to arms, and fought with the fury of men on the last verge of despair. The viceroy yielded to the first impulses of their rage, but the sudden appearance of a Spanish fleet threw the insurgents into consternation. The citadels and shipping commenced a tremendous cannonade on the city, and a thousand Spanish infantry landed and commenced a regular assault. The people, who had chosen the Duke of Guise to fill the station of Masaniello, at first obtained some advantages over the Spaniards; but the wild and illdirected movements of their rage could not long avail against the discipline of veteran troops, and the Duke of Arcos at length obtained a triumphant restoration to his authority, which was followed by increased severity of conduct.

Still, when urged beyond their power of forbearance by the ministers of Spanish tyranny, the Neapolitans would sometimes mutter, under their breath, "Masaniello is not dead!" meaning to imply that his spirit of freedom still animated their hearts a warning which was never heard by the Spaniards without dismay.

* Life of Salvator Rosa.

STATE OF ITALY

FROM A. D. 1699.

THE death of Charles the Second of Spain, in 1699, freed the Italian states from that entire dependence to which they had been reduced ever since the days of Charles the Fifth, but they only changed their old masters for others nearly as absolute. France, Spain, and Germany put in their several claims for a share of the devoted peninsula. The Italians themselves had, during their long slavery, learnt to feel like slaves.

It had become a matter of indifference to them whether they lived under a Spanish viceroy or an Austrian prince, so that they were allowed to pursue their business or pleasure undisturbed. These words had become synonymous: their pleasure was not in business, but their business was pleasure. They They no longer felt pride in their country, or affection for its rulers; they were no longer distinguished as statesmen, soldiers, merchants, poets, historians, statuaries, or painters. Boccaccio, Petrarca, Dante, had flourished in a free state; Sannazaro, the bard of Naples, had voluntarily expatriated himself when his country fell into the hands of Louis the Twelfth, and sold his hereditary possessions to relieve the necessities

of his sovereign; Michael Angelo had shared in the patriot struggle of expiring Florence; but these glorious names now awoke no kindred energies, and only fostered an idle and useless vanity. The Spaniards had introduced into Italy a contempt for that commerce which had been considered no degradation to the noblest houses of Florence, Venice, Pisa, and Genoa. A new opera or a church procession became affairs of importance when glory and freedom were only empty names; and the indolence which stifled the breathings of virtue made way for vices as injurious to the moral character, if not so atrocious, as those which disfigured the annals of the dark ages.

To a nation so degraded, the gift of liberty could be of little value; and when at length, in the year 1748, the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle secured the independence of Italy, her people had lost their own dignity too completely to be able to resume their former station among nations. Forty years of profound peace succeeded, unmarked by any event worthy of record. Naples was relieved from the oppression of viceroys, and governed by kings of the younger branches of the Spanish royal family. The first of these monarchs, Charles the Seventh, had a tranquil reign of twenty-one years. His chief object was to make his subjects peaceful