nance was that of a good actor, knowing his part thoroughly, and full of its spirit. I felt uneasy a long while, thinking he could not go on thus fluently and easily, and must come to a full stop, be lost in difficulties, and tumble down from the giddy height. Sometimes I thought this must be a studied part, and an imposition on our credulity; yet when I recollected the circumstance of the giving the subjects and the drawing out of the numbers, I was satisfied it was impossible. The attention of the Italians was rivetted upon him; yet their applause was not too frequent and indiscriminate, it burst out now and then with great violence, but in general they were silent. If we had been astonished at Scriggi's two first extempore poems, how much more when he gave a tragedy in three acts, on the story of Sophonisba, stating first his dramatis persona, viz. Sophonisba, and Syphax her husband; Massanissa and Scipio; Sophonisba's female attendant and a Roman soldier. One of the audience, a lady of our party, better skilled in Italian than myself, wrote from memory the following account of the tragedy, which was shown to an Italian present, and thought correct.

The attendant enters lamenting the misfortunes of her mistress, whom she says she has left in her bed paler than the sheets on which she reclines; while her attendants are preparing her bridal ornaments, she, wrapped in her mourning garments, heeds them not. Sophonisba enters, confesses that she has fervently loved Massanissa, but abhors the idea of uniting herself to the enemy of her country. Massanissa appears transported with joy at the thought of obtaining Sophonisba. She endeavours to persuade him to forsake the Romans, and become the friend of Carthage. He asks for what quality she formerly loved him; it was not for a fine figure or a strong arm, but for a faithful and an honest

heart, and what should he be if he should desert the Romans, and Scipio, the friend to whom he owed every thing! He then urges every argument to prevail with her to be his, and at last the victorious one, of its being the only means to save herself from being led in triumph to Rome. This is dicisive, and she ap pears rather relieved at her duty and inclination coinciding. The ceremony is actually taking place, and they are exchanging vows before the altar of Juno, when they are interrupted by a Roman soldier, who commands them in the name of Scipio and of the Roman people to stop. Massanissa replies that Scipio is his friend, not his master, that he will sacrifice his life but not his love to him. Scipio himself then appears, and Sophonisba retires. The Roman argues against an union which will render Massanissa the enemy of Rome; the latter then draws the most beautiful picture of his mistress, of her virtues, of her faith, and declares that he cannot abandon her. Scipio yields, though he says at the risk of incurring the indignation of the Roman people. Barca (the maid) now occupies the scene,--a warrior in disguise presents himself to her, and demands an enterview with Sophonisba, and gives a ring to be delivered to her. She knows the ring for that of Syphax, and she comes. The warrior tells her that her husband in expiring had commanded him to offer her an asylum, a poor one it must be. She refuses to follow him: perhaps he himself may have been the assassin of Syphax, or have possessed himself by treachery of the ring. He lifts his vizard and shows that he is Syphax. She almost faints at the discovery. He tells her he is aware she never loved him, that obedience not choice had made her his, but asks her, if now that he is abandoned by all, she too will forsake him. After a momentary struggle, she answers, No! she will follow him.

Says,

He then tells her of a subterranean passage leading from the Temple of Jupiter to the sea,-that he has a little bark that will carry them safe from their enemies; at midnight he expects her. Massanissa, however, is impatient to receive Sophonisba's vows, and the altar is prepared; but before she is carried to it, she writes to Syphax, swears fidelity to him, and renews her promise to fly with him at the appointed hour, commits her letter to Barca, who says she knows the passage well. Scipio and a Roman soldier now occupy the scene; the latter tells the former, that having entered a passage he had by chance perceived, a woman had met him, and given him this note, accompanied with some mysterious words, and had disappeared, seeming glad to have executed her commission, and he thought it his duty to bring the paper. The general praises the soldier, and promises reward. He reads the letter and though rejoiced at the contents, pours out a great deal of commonplace abuse on women in general, and Sophonisba in particular. Massanissa, in the mean time, hurries his bride to the altar of Juno. She is swearing to him all the love, and all the faith she has a right to give him, when Scipio enters and gives the fatal letter. The ceremony is interrupted, Sophonisba retires, and Massanissa, in transports of rage, swears to murder the lover in her arms. Midnight arrives; Syphax appears; he is attacked and mortally wounded by Massanissa, and suspects for a moment that Sophonisba has betrayed him. She appears, throws herself down beside him, swears not to survive, and kills herself.

The improvisatore never mentioned the names of the interlocutors, but by the change of tone, and frequently, also, the change of place, left no doubt about the speaker. He used the heroic Italian blank verse of eleven syllables, but in the cho

rus, which recurred several times, he used rhyme of all sorts, from four to twelve syllables. The tragedy lasted two hours and a half; he died twice in the course of it, once in the floor to suit the English taste I presume, and once in an arm chair, in the French decorous manner, both times with appropriate action, very energetic, but very natural and graceful, and never outre. His fine tones were quite free from the guttural rrr with which the Italians are apt to spoil their sweet harmonious language. He forgot the coxcomb in the transports of the poet, and never once, I really believe, thought of his rings or watch chain during the whole time. His great fault was abundance. Had he had a little time to consider, I have no doubt he would have been much shorter and much better. Yet this very abundance excites astonishment, for who would undertake to construct verses, even if they were nonsense, in correct measure, during two hours and a half; and when it is considered, that, instead of nonsense, a regular plot is to be contrived and carried through, even with the help of recollection as well as invention, and that the story was, in this instance, not only always plain and intelligible, but often told with great force and eloquence, so as to draw sudden bursts of applause from an audience generally cool and silent, the thing appears almost miraculous. At the conclusion there was a rush of a number of admirers towards to poet, and he was carried off among them in a sort of spontaneous triumph!

Tommaso Scriggi is the son of an advocate of Arezzo. He was educated at the University of Pisa, or rather that branch of it established at Florence, and was intended for the law; but his love of poetry, and particular talents for improvising, at which almost all the young men here try their powers at an early period of their lives, has at length made

him a sort of professor of the art, in which he is deemed by most Italians to excel any improvisatore that ever was known. Young men who have been his companions at college told me that his conversation was poetry itself; that he was well informed on most subjects, but chiefly in belles lettres. They admit that he is a great coxcomb, effeminate in his dress and manners, and often admiring himself in a mirror; yet his course of thinking and language is represented to be the very reverse of his manners, and much in the style of Alfieri. He has been accused of being something of a jacobin as most political school-boys are. The poet having been lately accused, at the house of an English lady, of having praised Bonaparte, he replied, with great warmth, that he praised no kings:' a speech which was thought rather a confirmation of the charge. M. Scriggi has adopted this exhibition as a trade; a scudo is paid for a ticket of admission; yet he will not speak on a stage, and borrows rooms

in a palace for the night--such are the niceties of pride!-Speaking of palaces, they are so numerous, and the proprietors often so poor, that any body can be lodged in a palace, that is, a house with a porte cochere, with a court inside, where a carriage may turn; but as there are no porters here, the gates stand wide open, and form on each side of the entrance a recess,-a sort of place most convenient to passengers, the public having thus a prescriptive right, which nobody thinks of disputing, so that the entrance into most Roman palaces is a perfect cloaque, through which you must wade, and often see indecencies which would be deemed incredible in other countries. A stranger who had lately taken apartments in one of these great mansions, finding a man en flagrant delit at the foot of the stairs, remonstrated on the proceeding. Why, I thought this was a palazzo!' replied the astonished offender, in perfect simplicity.

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