having four gray granite columns closely and methodically packed crosswise upon them. On the ninth the granite pillars were removed—a work of no trifling magnitude-and the troughs were found empty. On the fourteenth the closing hand was put to their labours. In a letter to the Earl of Bathurst, descriptive of these operations, Lady Hester says, "We came to the under-ground fabric we were looking for; but, alas! it had been rifled. It was as nearly as one could calculate capable of containing three millions of pieces of gold-the sum mentioned in the document."

Lady Hester rested herself awhile after this disappointment, in a cottage situate half a league from Jaffa. The experiment, although unsuccessful, had had the effect of increasing her popularity and notoriety throughout Syria. None of the indications mentioned in the MSS. could be found in the Awgy, so that her ladyship was induced to give up the idea of researches in that direction as fruitless. But some further explorations were carried on near Sayda, with no better success than at Ascalon. It was the expense of these researches, which ought to have been defrayed by the Osmanli government, that first involved her ladyship in debt, but she endeavoured to repair her losses by the strictest economy, and with this view she retired for the summer to her favourite site of Meshmushy.

It was in the interval of this residence in the mountain that Colonel Boutin, a Frenchman, whom Lady Hester had previously laughingly denounced as a spy, was murdered in the Ansairi mountains, which he had attempted to cross, in order to abbreviate the journey between Hamah and the sea-coast. Lady Hester employed an Italian of the name of Volpi, a hardy and resolute Druse, and a native Christian, to make those investigations, which she found the Osmanli officials unwilling to undertake. In the autumn of the same year, her ladyship also renewed her endeavours, on the occasion of a visit she made to Antioch, to rouse the Osmanlis to punish the assassins; but it was not till the summer of the ensuing year, that, backed by the representations of the French ambassador at the Porte, a field-officer was sent with a detachment of troops, to take signal vengeance of the unfortunate Ansairis, and to carry fire, slaughter, and rapine, into their secluded villages. It is remarkable that the author, in one part of his work, says that Colonel Boutin was assassinated by his own Turkish domestics, which is hardly to be reconciled with these proceedings, ostensibly done by the order of the Syt, as Lady Hester was generally denominated. Certain it is, that her ladyship visited the Ansairis after this disastrous event, and even harangued them upon their conduct, at a time when nothing but the terror excited by her late severe vengeance, and admiration of her fearless and magnanimous conduct, could have saved her life.

It was this summer, also, that Lady Hester was visited by Mr. Bankes and by Mr. Buckingham, and some misunderstanding took place with the former, with regard to the efficiency of certain letters of introduction, given by her ladyship to the Emir of the Palmyrean Arabs. Miss Williams, the companion of her latter days, also arrived from England; as did further the medical man, who took the author's place as professional attendant upon her ladyship, during the brief visit of the latter to this country.

'

Among the visiters, at this period, was also Dr. Wolff, who forwarded

a letter to Miss Williams from her sister. A note, which the enterprising traveller received in return, is one of the most extraordinary epistles penned by her ladyship. It was as follows:

"TO DR. WOLFF.

"I am astonished that an apostate should dare to thrust himself into notice in my family. Had you been a learned Jew, you never would have abandoned a religion, rich in itself, although defective, to embrace the shadow of one. Light travels faster than sound; therefore the Supreme Being could never have allowed his creatures to be left in utter darkness, until paid and speculating wanderers deem it proper to raise their venal voices to enlighten them.

"HESTER LUCY STANHOPE.' "9

With this suggestive, but hasty and somewhat reprehensible letter, we terminate our notice of this remarkable record. Her ladyship's final retirement to Jun, and her melancholy death at that place, have been narrated in the previously published memoirs, and in Mr. Eliot Warburton's travels, extracts concerning which have also appeared in our pages. There is, however, every thing that is desirable in this interesting narrative, and we hope, even in the succinct analysis of it which we have here given, to do away with a hundred fictions and a thousand misrepresentations that have been made upon Lady Hester's career in the East, and upon her oft-debated greatness. Apart from the detractions of some, and the exaggerations of others, the bitterness of Mr. Bankes, or the poetic imaginings of De Lamartine, it will be seen, that with all her failings and eccentricities, infinite tact, great ability, and wondrous perseverance and resolution, were ever brought to bear upon her enterprises however dreamy in their nature, and upon the objects she had in view, however fallacious might be their purport.

The history of these enterprises and objects does not the less attach to their heroine an imperishable reputation for acts and deeds which often approximate more closely to the marvellousness of Arabian Nights' Entertainments, than to realities of travel and adventure, that have occurred within our own time.

THE OPERA.

VERDI'S "LOMBARDI."

A FEW foreboding bars-something dismal, something ecclesiastical, attune the mind of the auditory for the tale of devotion and death which is to be set before them.

Up goes the curtain, and straight before our eyes stands the church of St. Ambrose, Milan, beautifully lighted. Citizens, masculine and feminine, assemble to celebrate the return of Pagano, who, having been banished for attempting the life of his brother Avino, is now generously pardoned by that brother, and has come back again. The brother, good easy man, thinks all is right, but not so the citizens, who exchange communication in masses of unison, and think that the screw which has been 'loose, will continue loose still. That abominable Pagano, though he may

look respectable enough, utters marvellous villany in his "asides," as you will see if you consult your libretto, during the concerted piece, in which all the family of Avino join,-just like the Hutchinsons, when they tell you of the "old granite state." But a diversion is given to the domestic course of thought by the entrance of the prior of the city, who not only brings violently upon the tapis the subject of the crusades, but tells Avino that the Lombard crusaders have chosen him for their leader. All private feelings are apparently merged into the general hatred against the infidels, and a waving of swords, with a good lusty chorus

ensues.

Mind, we said, “apparently," for Viclinda the wife, and Giselda, the daughter of Avino, when the hurricane of delight at his promotion has a little subsided, still indulge in melancholy forebodings touching the disposition of Pagano. Thou, oh Giselda, appealest to the Madonna— but what avails thy preghiera, even though thou art personated by Grisi, against such a resolute piece of wickedness as thine uncle, who in a few minutes

But here let us stop a moment, and declare, that if ever the times grow so very corrupt, as to revive the now-forgotten practice of employing assassins, and we find ourselves unhappily in the fashion, we will not take Pagano into our pay; for, wicked though he be, his wickedness is as nought compared to his clumsiness. He goes into a chamber to kill his brother, and kills his father instead. Here is matter for a finale! Here comes a torrent of reproach from all the dramatis persona! Aye, and self-reproach into the bargain, for this Pagano has a conscience, though a peculiar one. He would kill brothers and sisters all round, with every collateral, and go to his lunch with a good appetite, but he shrinks from the thought of slaying his father. Fratricide is a practical joke-parricide, a crime. One sympathises with poor Pagano, when one exactly knows the state of his ethics, and when Avino roars at him (as much as Corelli can roar), "Parricida!" one feels he might have extricated himself by a little explanation, and said, "Mio caro fratello, it is true, I have been unlucky enough to kill my father, but 'pon my soul, I never meant any thing of the kind-I only meant to kill YOU." Could apology be more satisfactory?

Eastward ho! We leave Milan in the far-west, and in the palace of Acciano, tyrant of Antioch, we listen to a chorus of noisy Turks, who, accompanied by a military band (on the stage) express their determination to extirpate the Christians. Do you think this clamorous mob represents, without exception, the general Turkish feeling? No-there is one young Islamite, Oronte, dressed in the most recherché style of Orientalism, whose heart is smitten by the charms of Giselda, now a prisoner in the "tyrant's" palace, and who therefore feels his faith in the Koran considerably weakened, strongly suspecting that the word "Mufti” is only Arabic for "humbug.' For he argues thus:

Come poteva un angelo,

Crear sì puro il cielo,

E agli occhi suoi non schiudere

Di veritade il velo?

That is to say: Grisi is the most charming creature in the world, therefore her theological views are necessarily sound, a point which the early

doctors of Islam had probably not considered. The song that contains these views is the "gem" of the opera, and is charmingly sung by Mario, to whom, rather than to Verdi, the honours of its success belong.

But is military music alone made for the infidels? Are these Mussulman dogs to monopolise the brass band? The very thought is enough to bring the ghost of Pelayo all the way from the Asturias to the Haymarket, and to make the Cid jump up from his mortal repose, as he did when the Jew tried to pluck his august beard. No-keep quiet, good Pelayo and Rodrigo; the Christians have their military band too, and it would delight your ears to hear the cymbals as this band descends the mountains near Antioch. The hermit of that desolate place, who is no other than our old friend Pagano, now repenting of his sins, feels his spirit rousedresolves to do service as an atonement for old sins-contrives a plan for getting possession of Antioch, and claps a goodly helmet on his head.

In truth, Antioch is in sad peril. What avails that chorus of Oriental ́women, who call Giselda, "La bella stranièra," characteristic though it be, and accompanied with a real Turkish jingle? It is but the calm preceding the storm, for the crusaders enter the palace, and make the shortest work possible with the Mussulmans. And here comes the finale-Giselda, indignant at the death of her lover, attacks the Christians in good round terms, and takes the same view of the crusades, that was taken by Voltaire and Gibbon in the eighteenth century. Strange! The cause that makes Oronte inclined to Catholicism, is an incentive to Giselda to become a modern philosophe. Omnia vincit amor. The singing of the finale is one of those dashing pieces of energy, in which Grisi is unapproached-unapproachable.

But when we find ourselves in the valley of Jehoshaphat in the third act—who is that very well dressed crusader, who steps into the foreground? That long dark-blue surtout, that armour, that very appropriate make-up," could belong to none but Mario. And Mario it is, for Oronte is not killed after all, but has managed to escape in this costume. Joy unutterable! Can Giselda, who now appears, do less than combine with him in a very effective duet, and elope with him from her father's camp at the end of it? Certainly not. But, alas! "These violent delights have violent ends." Poor Oronte gets killed-bonâ fide killedat last, and dies a convert to Christianity in the arms of Giselda and Pagano, who join in a very beautiful trio. How soft the dying tones of Mario-how wild the despair of Grisi!

Do not imagine that because Oronte is dead, we have done with him. In the fourth (1) act, his ghost appears to Giselda, and sings to her, accompanied by a chorus of "Celestials." Grisi's air after this apparition being one of the most effective pieces in the opera.

Here ends the dramatic interest. The crusaders sing a beautiful chorus în unison, very like one in Nino. Jerusalem is taken, and Pagano, who is wounded in the enterprise, dies, having first obtained his brother's forgiveness.

Descend curtain - thou wicked, designing, stupid, blundering, repentant, pious, virtuous, valiant Pagano-fare thee well! Farewell also, new scenery and costumes-far more splendid than any thing that has been seen at this theatre, and most indicative of the enterprise of Mr. Lumley.

A FLIT THROUGH THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

PICTURES many-pages few-much to be set down, and little to contain it, we must be brief and comprehensive-wide-seeing, shortspeaking.

We love not those who walk up and down the rooms of the Royal Academy, dismal as the traditional white lady who haunts the royal family of Prussia, and utter Banshee-like wailings about the want of self-elevating power in British art. This is a splendid exhibition-such a one as we have not seen for years-but our malcontents nevertheless roam mournfully about, and scatter "ambiguas voces" about "high art," and fifty things that are wearisome to hear and needless-thank Heaven-to recapitulate.

Truly to us it seemeth as though British art had become a thing of mighty luxuriance, rising high and spreading far, crowding its productions one upon another as though its vigour were inexhaustible, and finally scattering them with the most gracious profusion into the eyes of all who can pay a shilling. Look, reader, at those walls, how wide and how covered-note the quantity of good there is in that covering; and then if the love of truth is in thee-truth divested of humbug-truth unveiled as the delicious nudes of Etty (mark the curves and pulpiness of his "Sea-bather," mark how the flesh of his three goddesses in the "Judgment of Paris" is set off by that gorgeous peacock and gold) then, we say, do honour to the art of thy country. To look and not to admire would be a sin that even the presumptuous Actæ n did not venture upon-the curious wight who has given occasion to that very clever study of flesh by Mr. Frost.

But ere thou beginnest to look be careful that thine eyes do not fall on that little picture opposite the door in the great room. Reserve that for the last, or thy mortal sight will have been so dazzled that it will little avail thee to go further. What a lighting up of warm, glowing hues, amber, mahogany, crimson, one after another, there is in this same little picture of Mulready's "Choosing the Wedding-gown!" Verily it presses with such force upon the eye-that minute piece of concentrated vigour-that we not only see it but feel it,—undergo a sort of "ordeal by touch" like that murdered man in Maclise's very fine picture, round whom are gathered so many forms animated with such various expression,-e. g. the murderer with averted face, the searching churchman--the woestricken indignant wife—the grim soldier-that one marvels at the fertile genius which has flung them into existence in such manifold condition, and has knitted them together with such dramatic unity. Maclise's invention is boundless,- —one thinks one has exhausted him, yet anon one peeps into some corner, discovers something new, and perceives that one has not touched bottom yet. But ere we quit Mulready let us draw a little moral. Mark the amber dress of that attractive lady, and remember our clients, the amber curtains at the Opera. One authority more for the suitability of amber to the complexion feminine, Mulready's "Bride" shall be added to our "Aurora" and "Bacchus" of last month.

Having warned thee, then, reader, not to endanger too soon thine optical organs, not to poke thine head into the cannon's mouth, like the lamb in