throughout the poem, that the reader voluntarily yields himself to the delusion, without even wishing to call the author to account for the grossness of his deceptions. One peculiarity distinguishing this Quixote, is, that although modelled on the hero of Cervantes, he does not pretend to be identically the same individual, but may, more correctly, be considered in poetry, what a variation of a favourite theme is in music. Such rifacciamenti are by no means unusual with the Italians; it frequently happens, however, that some violence is done to the original, in order that the renovated form may produce a novel and striking effect. This is often the case with Meli, who, lest he should appear not to come up to his model, frequently goes beyond it, and passing the limits of comic humour, falls into parody. If adherence to the original features be an indispensable duty, in whoever selects such well-known personages as the characters immortalized and identified by the vivifying pen of Cervantes, this author frequently shocks us, by exhibiting the faithful squire as maliciously disposed to wards his master.

We know not how to convey a more correct notion of the spirit and manner of the present poem, than by saying, that in sarcastic wit it is not inferior to the Novelle of Casti-but in decorum far superior to those notorious compositions.

The poet begins his work by evoking the shade of the knight, conjuring him to disclose such of his adventures as had been passed over in silence by his first historian, in order that they may not be lost to posterity. He then immediately transports his hero and Sancho-who himself, by the bye, is worth a dozen ordinary heroes of Romance into the midst of Scythia. In precipitately descending a mountain of snow, a rude concussion happens between the knight and his squire, owing to which the latter has an eye knocked out, and immediately after electric sparks are seen to proceed from the coat of Dapple, which the Don attributes to enchantment. After many ineffectual conjurations addressed to his Dulcinea, he in his fury slays the unfortunate animal; who is most feelingly eulogized and bewailed by Sancho.

The second Canto opens with a sin

gular piece of mythology-the birth of Chance, a power who plays a considerable part in the poem, and one to whom both the hero and his satellite are frequently indebted for their preservation. Sancho has the misfortune to fall into a well; Don Quixote, too, has an adventure with some dogs, in which encounter he sustains some damage. There is a beautiful elegiac idyl in this Canto, which is terminated by the Don's cloathing himself like another Hercules, with the hide of Dapple.

A fresh adventure is announced to the Knight, in the succeeding Canto, by means of a dream. Hearing sounds issuing from a chasm in a rock, he causes himself to be let down with ropes, and there he encounters Sancho, whom he supposes to be an enchanter, and who is the loser of a nose in this meeting. In the fourth Canto, Sancho relates to the shepherds some of the earlier adventures of his master, as they have been recorded by Cervantes, Don Quixote, in the mean while, wandering about in the cavern after the shepherds had drawn Sancho up, hears a dreadful sound, which he supposes to proceed from an invisible enemy, but which he finds to be occasioned by a torrent in its escape from the cavern. Don Quixote is rescued from his peril by a gardener and a hermit, the latter of whom furnishes him with some of his own weeds: thus disguised, he is met by Sancho, who, not knowing him, relates to the supposed recluse his master's mad fits and follies, and not in a very eulogizing strain.

Avea un sistema eroico e reale
E non nutriva al cor ombra di fiele
Malgrado cio, soffriva un certo male
Che in traccia andava ognora di querele;
Per lui era tormento un gran solazzo,
La fame sazietà—dunque era pazzo.

The knight's indignation discovers him, and hardly is he appeased, before a new adventure presents itself. He mistakes the shadow thrown by a cloud upon the side of a mountain, for a giant; and this error creates a scene, that is worthy of the pen of Cervantes himself, whether we regard its conception or its execution.-While he is hacking with his sword against a fragment of the rock-he alarms a porcupine from its place of concealment, and attempts to convince his incredu

lous squire, that the giant has transformed himself into this animal-at length, indignant at his scepticism, he challenges Sancho to a combat, in imitation of those of the Athlete of antiquity: this, however, terminates not very gloriously for the knightnor very becomingly for the poet, who ventures, in this place, to indulge in such unblushing and free strains as would do honour to a Casti. On the shore of the island, which was the scene of the last-mentioned adventure, Don Quixote finds (in the sixth Canto) a boat, in which, after much altercation, both he and Sancho embark, in order to pursue their exploits on a different element. The squire breaks out into bitter complaints against his destiny, and particularly as he is obliged to meet his fate in the darkness of night, without being able to leave behind him any account of the way in which he is reduced to perish. The knight himself is in the interim buried in waking dreams, mistaking, as he does, the noise of a mill for the music of the spheres, and imagining himself to be discoursing most pleasantly with Jupiter, upon various imperfections of humanity and human affairs. These visions are suddenly dissipated by a youth, who leaps from a precipice into the vessel. This intruder, who is only a disconsolate swain, who has been instigated by Bacchus to take this new lover's leup, on being questioned as to his name, replies that he is the king of the Mamelukes, an assertion which meets with full credit from our visionary hero; and produces a very entertaining conversation, in which are admirably displayed, and contrasted, the opposite views of the knight and his squire. Daylight, in the mean time, has appeared; and Sancho, weary of his voyage, avails himself of the opportunity afforded by a rock, to catch hold of it and leap ashore, dragging his ragged majesty of the Mamelukes en suite. In vain does Don Quixote endeavour to entice back his squire, from what he conceives to be a perilous situation; for to his vivifying imagination the rock appears some huge sea-monster. At length he consents to engage in the seemingly desperate exploit himself, and enters a cavity of the rock, which he has convinced himself is the monster's mouth. The

seventh Canto leaves us in doubt as to the farther fortunes of the hero, but Sancho, who on not finding him, supposes that he has been swallowed up by the monster, with the assistance of the shepherd, again makes himself master of the boat, and they thus reach the nearest shore. A shepherdess, who has recently lost her betrothed husband, is prevailed upon by the eloquence of Sancho, who has obtained great celebrity among the shepherds, to bestow her hand upon the rustic, who has accompanied him in the boat. Although this Canto is enriched with several passages of no inconsiderable beauty, it is, nevertheless, rather tame and meagre when compared with those which precede it. On the re-appearance of the hero, however, the interest and the action of the poem are again revived; for the two next Cantos are the most successful in the whole work, and will sustain a comparison with the inventions of Cervantes. During the celebration of the marriage-festival, Don Quixote makes his appearance in the midst of a volley of stones, which, spite of his valour, his whimsical figure has attracted from a troop of roguish boys. A highly comic scene now takes place: Sancho advances towards his master, arrayed in knightly costume of the most singular description; for instead of a helmet, he wears a hollowed gourd, decorated with a horse's tail instead of a plume-his mantle is a sheep's skin, and his breast is protected by a horse's hide. This singularly equipped warrior gives a very pleasant description of the different parts of his dress; recounting the admirable properties of each part, in such a manner as to excite the admiration of Don Quixote, who does not recognize in the strange figure before him his own follower and satellite.

In the ninth Canto, Sancho, having conducted his master into the shepherd's habitation, recounts to him how a lascivious enchanter has had recourse to the aid of demons, in order to discover by what spell he may overcome the virtue of every female: -he informs him, moreover, that this malicious traitor has assumed the appearance of the renowned Don Quixote, for the purpose of subduing, under that irresistible shape, the chas

tity of the virtuous and peerless Dulcinea del Toboso. Notwithstanding, however, the captivating form in which he appeared, the traitor has been valiantly repulsed by the maiden, whom, out of revenge for her contempt, he has metamorphosed into an ugly hag. In this shape, has he, her brother, conducted her through different countries, in the hope of meeting with some knight who may effect her disenchantment by vanquishing the sorcerer in combat. Hitherto, no one has been able to accomplish this purpose, each having been foiled; and he himself, as he informs the knight, has lost half his nose in the attempt. Don Quixote is now conducted by Sancho to a frightful old woman, whom he addresses as his adored Dulcinea; and, in order to release her from her dreadful fate, he prepares to have recourse to the counter-spells, which are to produce the disenchantment. In all these inventions and contrivances of Sancho Panza, there is something contradictory to the simplicity belonging to his character; and this want of keeping is rather diminished than increased, when the poet attributes to him a delicate feeling for real beauty; as is the case, where he describes his raptures at beholding the sea on a clear moonlight night.

The reader does not feel quite satisfied, besides, with the cruel manner in which the disenchantment is so contrived by Sancho, as to occasion his master the loss of an ear, and a severe wound on the foot. This is certainly quite contradictory to the other parts of Sancho's behaviour, and destroys the harmony of the composition.

Anxious to remove the unfavourable impressions produced by this gratuitous display of inhumanity, the poet exhibits Sancho to us, in the eleventh Canto, in all his native bonhommie,--concerned for the serious effects of his unfeeling pleasantry, and eager to relieve the misfortunes which his malice has occasioned. In compliance with the advice of his squire, who recommends it as efficacious against the machinations of the enchanter, and by way of penance for his infidelity towards his mistress, in having expressed too warmly his admiration of the shepherdess, Don

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Quixote determines to turn peasant. Sancho is rejoiced at the readiness of his compliance, hoping that this scheme may tend to cure his master of his visionary fancies. Destiny, however, frustrates this notably-devised plan: Sancho finds the rusticated Don engraving on the stem of a tree some fine Utopian plans for the improvement of the world. He ridicules these new chimeras, in which the knight is indulging, declaring that it would be as easy to straighten the crooked branches of an oak, as to straighten all that is bent and crooked in the world. Don Quixote considering this to be a challenge, prepares to exhibit his prowess -but owing to the violence of his exertions, he bursts his body, and dies. Such a catastrophe is, it must be confessed, at once ridiculous, disgusting, and revolting to our feelings. How different is the death which Cervantes has given to his hero! Sancho, after burying his master, travels through the world, where the reputation of the knight's exploits had conferred a celebrity upon this his faithful squire; and passes the remainder of his life in moderate but contented circumstances. Such are the most prominent events of this poem: with respect to its execution, it certainly possesses considerable beauties; and the language and versification are conspicuous for purity and facility. We hesitate not to affirm that Bevilacqua has conferred a favour on the literary world, by thus drawing from the obscurity of the Sicilian idiom, a production of considerable humour, and possessing, even in its title, something to excite our interest, and insure our attention.

The reader ought not, however, to expect a continuation of the adventures of the original and inimitable Quixote of the Spanish author, but rather a variation, as we before observed, of a popular theme. Decidedly inferior, in many respects, to its model, the present work hardly aspires to be considered as the emanation of a kindred genius. The incidents are too uniformly comic, without any of those fine serious traits,that redeeming spirit of poetry,-that wonderful invention every where discoverable in the work of Cervantes, and those touches which render it