enough.

Ten o'clock.--No Chaloner; but, as usual, also no carriage. Half-past
ten.--No Chaloner. At eleven--the carriage;--and behold, in three hours
more, the smiling face of Mr Morgan--the great long room and clean
apartments of the Angel, and the end of our expectations of house and
home, except in an hotel.

We have no time on the present occasion to tell how fortune smiled upon
us at last. How our landlord exerted himself, not only to make us happy
while under his charge, but to get us into comfortable quarters in a
large commodious house in the neighbourhood. In some future Number we
will relate how jollily we fare in our new abode. How we are waited on
like kings by the kindest host and hostess that ever held a farm; and
how we travel in all directions, leaving the little ones at home, in a
great strong gig, drawn by a horse that hobbles and joggles at a famous
pace, and gives us plenty of good exercise and hearty laughter. All
these things we will describe for the edification of people under
similar circumstances to ourselves. The present lucubration being
intended as a warning not to move from _one_ home till another is
secured; the next will be an example how country quarters are enjoyed,
and a description of how pale cheeks are turned into red ones by living
in the open air.

TORQUATO TASSO.

Any thing approaching to an elaborate criticism of the _Torquato Tasso_
of Goethe we do not, in this place, intend to attempt; our object is
merely to translate some of the more striking and characteristic
passages, and accompany these extracts with such explanatory remarks as
may be necessary to render them quite intelligible.

There is, we cannot help remarking, a peculiar awkwardness in
introducing a veritable poet amongst the personages of a drama. We
cannot dissociate his name from the remembrance of the works he has
written, and the heroes whom he has celebrated. Tasso--is it not another
name for the _Jerusalem Delivered_? and can he be summoned up in our
memory without bringing with him the shades of Godfrey and Tancred? We
expect to hear him singing of these champions of the cross; this was his
life, and we have a difficulty in according to him any other. It is only
after some effort that we separate the man from the poet--that we can
view him standing alone, on the dry earth, unaccompanied by the
creations of his fancy, his imaginative existence suspended, acting and
suffering in the same personal