produce something altogether new and startling.
The remarks of Mastragabito are sometimes so
horrible and so impious that it is impossible to
print them in English, and now and then the
phantoms speak in such a ghastly and impressive
manner that the blood is chilled, and the
extravagance of the scene is for a moment or
two lost sight of. When the devil rises from
the dead it is in the quality of a conjuror; that is
to say, the conjuror having ceased to play the
part of the devil (in Armando's distempered
fancy) reappears in his own shape, and foretells
the dreamer's death. The story winds up with
a bridal scene, which is changed into a scene of
mourning by the announcement that Armando
is dead. He has drowned himself in the Adriatic
by mistake, or in a sort of wishy-washy
fulfilment of the prophecy which forewarned him
to avoid water, and his body is washed up on
his wedding day.

The book is full of great beauties and glaring
defects. The nightmare scene, which occupies
so much space, has nothing whatever to do with
the story, and the devil, so far from bringing
about a crisis, never appears on the scene at all,
except in the morbid imagination of a sick man.
Last not least, the author—and not the critic—
is to blame for any absurdities or mystifications
which may exist in this résumé. If he wants
his critics to understand his story throughout,
perhaps he will be good enough to write a
key to it. Perhaps he will say (as Coleridge
said of Christabell) that he does not
understand it himself. But we must be lenient
with Armando. As an epic it is a failure, but
as a story in verse introducing some of the most
charming lyrics which have been produced in
Italy of late years, it is a great success. This
is a part of the Boatman's Song, in almost
a literal translation:

I.
My lady has such lovely eyes,
She is the altar of my vows,
She seems a Saint of Paradise,
But she shall be my tender spouse;
The rose is not so red as she,
The lily's not so white as she;
Around her head the beams are spread
Which light the world when day is dead!
And night and day the boatman brave and strong
Singeth his song.

II.
One day a stranger kissed her hand
And heaved a sigh, but all in vain;
The girl was true to love's command,
And would not smile upon his pain.
Said she: "My lover's poor and low,
His house is not the best I know;
But when he stands upon the sands
He seems the lord of all the lands!"
And night and day the boatman brave and strong
Singeth his song.

III.
Her name is like a charm to me,
Her voice is like a silver bell;
When I'm alone upon the sea
I think of her and all is well.
Her virtue keeps my boat secure,
Her name has made me proud and pure;
In storm and shine her fame is mine,
And God will guard the foaming brine!
And night and day the boatman brave and strong
Singeth his song.

FAR-WESTERN GAMBLERS.

IN Far-Western "society" it is no longer
reputable to be known as a professional
gambler, yet men who remember the days when
everybody played will be apt to look lightly
upon the vice. It is not uncommon, therefore,
to see merchants (especially American)
having a social game of "cut-throat monte,"
"eucre," or "poker," with piles of gold
before them. In the mountain towns it is still
worse, and the ante-rooms of the Nevada and
California legislators used to be a perfect
carnival of gambling in the evenings, and even
during the day, when they were not intent on
gambling in the public weal. The tolerance of
gambling and the wide-spread habit of betting
show through many of the slang phrases in
general use on the coast. Continually you will
hear men, and even women and children
sometimes, adding, after making some positive
assertion, "You bet," or "You bet yer life," or
"You bet yer bones," while to "bet yer boots"
is confirmation strong as holy writ—in the
mines, at least. A miner is always particular
about his "butes," their form and durability,
and they are a common subject of conversation
in the places where diggers most do congregate.
Again, nobody in the North-West will have any
hesitation in telling you that such and such a
statement is "played out" when he means to
convey an imputation that you are somewhat
beside the truth, or that the proposals you
may be making to him are not suitable to his
ideas of things right and fitting. If he further
informs you that "this has been played out
since '49," he means that since the first
colonisation of the Pacific coast by "smart men,"
such a thing was never believed in: 1849
being the year of the commencement of the
Californian gold digging. A vote being taken on
an important measure in the Indiana senate, a
grave and reverend senator, who had not been
attending to the "biz" in hand, did not know
what the question was when his name was
called by the secretary. He looked puzzled
for a moment, and then rapping the desk with
his knuckles after the manner of card-players,
said, "I pass!" An audible titter ran through,
the hall, and the president of the senate "took
it up."

A divine in a Far-Western State visited a
distant town for the purpose of preaching the
dedicatory sermon in a new church. Court was in
session, and on Saturday the judge and lawyers
congregated together in a room, and amused
themselves by card-playing and story-telling.
The divine, at the request of a lawyer, visited
the room. He came into the room so suddenly
that they were unable to hide their cards and