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to comfort the depraved in their wickedness; and with all due deference to that ultra modification of justice, which consists in giving somebody, who shall be nameless, his due, we still hold that with reference to the world at large, such summum jus is beyond all civil summam injuria. Everybody indeed pretends that it is not the deed, but the intention which merits reward; and how is it possible that a bad man do any thing with a good motive? It has, to be sure, been said that we are not to look a gift horse in the mouth; and we so far respect the proverb, that we would not advise the return of a gift, though it came from the greatest scamp in christendom: but returning the obligation is quite another affair.

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After all, however, it is not so certain whether gratitude be due to the act or to the intention. On the one hand it must be conceded that "deeds show," while on the other, it must be admitted that it is not always in mortals to command success. The very beggars, when you plead impecuniosity in excuse for a charitable intention manqué, look pitiful and exclaim, "thank you all the same." But then, if an assassin par hazard opens an imposthume, and saves at once your life and the expense of a surgeon, it does not seem reasonable to require gratitude in return for such a favour: and, per contra, if an awkward fellow, in trying to remove an insect from your eye, puts his own finger into it, to the loss of your sight, must you be thankful for good intention? Besides, no one can be certain of intentions before they are manifested in the overt act. It is so easy to protest. The very judge who orders the culprit a good whipping, tells him it is all for his good: just as the inquisitor burned men's bodies for the salvation of their souls,-the kind, considerate creatures!

To give therefore too ready credit to mere intentions, is not gratitude, but folly; and to be grateful on false grounds, diminishes, pro tanto, the limited fund which the happiest may possess, for returning the kindnesses of the real benefactor.

These infinite difficulties, which are enough to puzzle the most refined casuist that ever studied how to slip his neck out of the collar, are manifestly too much for a simple-minded man; and it would be absolute want of charity not to suppose that many (so called) acts of ingratitude, are merely opportunities lost, in the vain attempt at solving the duties of the case.

On the whole, then, we cannot but conclude that the matter has commonly been much overstated: that there is some intimate connexion between gratis and gratitude, proving that they who look for a return in kind, have really no claims in the parties they oblige; that half the favours in the world are no favours at all; and that, if friendship is, as the French philosopher asserts, but an interchange of good offices, it becomes a wise man, in this as in all other sorts of commerce, to make the best bargain he can for himself. Upon the whole, it seems to us that an insolvent court and a code of laws are as requisite to settle these disputed debts of gratitude, as for adjusting pecuniary differences of opinion; and as soon as the question of secondary punishments shall have been satisfactorily arranged, we hope to see a bill before parliament for supplying the deficiency.

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THE BEQUEATHED HEART:

A TALE.

By R. B. PEAKE, ESQ.

GABRIELLI was the most enchanting singer of her time. Her wondrous style, extraordinary voice, and great powers as an actress, were long the admiration of all Italy. Brydone speaking of her in 1773, describes her as the most dangerous syren of modern times, and one who had made more conquests than any woman breathing. She is said to have owed much of her professional merit to the diligent instruction she received from the eminent Metastasio; and the no less celebrated Garrick spoke thus of her, on witnessing her performance at the theatre of San Carlo at Naples :

"The famous Gabrielli pleased me much; she has a good person, is the best actress I ever saw on the opera stage, and has the most agreeable voice I ever heard; but she sings more to the ear than to the heart."

Garrick's remark leads us somewhat to the pith of our story; the English Roscius knew accurately the nature of the human heart, and though he has been repeatedly accused of an absence of the best feelings of it, much must be placed to the score of calumny, and this was considerably aided by the sarcastic wit of a theatrical rival, Foote, whose own heart, some people say, was as hard as his wooden leg.

Dukes, princes, cardinals, bishops, all were in love with the fascinating Gabrielli; but she was an object of adoration to the foreign travellers who visited Italy, particularly those from Great Britain. Gabrielli, although she was rich, was very extravagant; and she had discovered that the young gentry of our country had more money to dispose of than the birds of passage of other nations, and were less cautious in parting with it.

Amongst her numerous admirers, was a young Irishman of good family, tolerable fortune, and elegant address. His name was Fitzgerald O'Carrol. His father had died about three years before his visit to Italy, leaving a widow, still handsome, and a daughter, a charming specimen of well-bred Irish beauty. They lived in a mansion that had been long occupied by the family, near the little town of Manor Hamilton, Leitrim county.

Fitzgerald O'Carrol was of an ardent temperament, and generous to the extreme. He mixed in the best society, and entered into every gaiety that youth and high spirits can enjoy. He was devotedly fond of music, and on his first visit to the Opera House of San Carlo, fell desperately in love with Gabrielli. From that night he never was absent from a performance, where he sat and listened with enraptured ears to the melodious voice of the syren; whilst his heart beat with vivid emotion at every transition of her beautiful countenance, and every flash of her brilliant eyes.

He at length, by assiduity and bribery, obtained the entrée to the stage and foyer and attended the rehearsals, where of course he

soon procured an introduction to the fair vocalist who had interested him so powerfully. This fanned his admiration into an ardent attachment.

But Gabrielli, though possessed of such charms of fascination, and such predominant talents, was capricious and stubborn. She held her patrons, the public, in perfect contempt, and would sing only when she pleased. When she was in the humour, nothing could be compared with her performance, for she commanded every passion with unbounded sway. But neither a royal command, interest, flattery, threats, nor punishment, had the least power over her caprice; and she was actually banished from several cities in Italy, for stated periods, for braving the authorities. Even the Emperor Francis I., who invited her to Vienna, and was prodigally munificent to her, was at last compelled to banish her.

Fitzgerald O'Carrol, and other British subjects, endeavoured to persuade Gabrielli to enter into an engagement with the directors of the Opera in London, from whom a carte blanche had been sent over to her; but she fairly told them that she could not command her caprice, and feared that in England she would not be allowed to indulge in it; for said she, "Were I to take it in my head not to sing, I am given to understand that the people would certainly mob me, and perhaps break my bones. Now, I like to sleep in a whole skin, although it should even be in prison."

Fitzgerald having made the acquaintance of Gabrielli, prevailed on her, though at first with some seeming difficulty, to accept several magnificent trinkets; and when he beheld her wearing them publicly, his delight was excessive; he thought he had opened the first trench from which to assault her heart. But the prima-donna was crafty; she had too many admirers, to fix her affections on one. And the thoughtless Irish gallant expended large sums of money in too liberal a style for his fortune, in fêtes to amuse her and her friends. Sometimes O'Carrol sighed, and thought of his mother and sister, and old Ireland; but by fatality, Gabrielli either at the moment warbled one of the charming airs of her country, engendered in the composer's brain by the clear and sunny climate, or by her wit, or pathos in acting, dispersed his better feelings.

At one of these festive meetings, where the revelry was prolonged till past midnight, and Gabrielli had been more than usually delightful: O'Carrol, in performing the duties of host, was greatly excited having swallowed more champagne and burgundy than he was wont to do. One of the party, by way of jest, and of giving variety to the amusements of the night, proposed that they should each make a fictitious will, and bequeath to Gabrielli a portion of that which each individual was supposed to possess a superfluity. For instance, the old Marquis Candiano, a bald-headed rake of seventy-eight, was asked what he would bequeath, when Gabrielli requested that the Marquis would leave her a lock of his hair and his prudence! The Signora Chiaviri, a handsome termagant, was to bequeath her humility; and of her husband (as hen-pecked a signor as any in all Italy) Gabrielli begged his manly spirit; of a dull author in the company, the prima-donna asked to be favoured with a smattering of his comic humour. Her lawyer was at table, a subtle Milanese named Balthazar Valdarno, and Gabrielli archly entreated him to leave

her two very great rarities, which might possibly be in his possession, a grain of honesty, and a small portion of modesty. And thus the jest went round the room.

When Fitzgerald's turn came, he said, "Charming Gabrielli, what shall I bequeath you?"

Gabrielli fixed her large sparkling eyes on him, and replied, "BEQUEATH ME YOUR HEART!"

The lawyer, Balthazar, overheard this answer, and silently watched the extraordinary effect it had on Fitzgerald, whose face glowed with crimson, and whose eyes lighted up into brilliant animation; the young and handsome Irishman instantly received the words that Gabrielli had uttered as an avowal of her affection. This misconception, added to the effects of the wine, of which he had liberally partaken, raised him to a state of the wildest excitement. At a very late, or rather a very early hour, the party retired to their several homes, with the exception of Balthazar Valdarno, who had a deep scheme of his own to effect; to further which he artfully and plausibly opened a conversation with Fitzgerald, chiefly turning upon the charms and good qualities of Gabrielli. On so engrossing a subject as this, all the warm Hibernian feelings were aroused, and he insisted that Valdarno should pledge the health of the prima-donna in bumpers of burgundy. The wine which rendered the brain of Fitzgerald uncontrollable, strengthened that of the wily lawyer to carry his purpose; and when after repeated libations, he judged his victim ripe for the object he had in view, he first insinuated that he had accidentally overheard the tender and affectionate remark of Gabrielli towards Fitzgerald, and contrasted it with the brusque retorts she had uttered to every other person of the party.

The Irish lover listened with greedy attention; the words "BEQUEATH ME YOUR HEART," floated before his excited imagination: and the sentence was on his lips a thousand times. In a moment of delirium, Fitzgerald exclaimed, "Balthazar Valdarno, with your kind assistance, I will bequeath Gabrielli my heart, and you shall draw up the testament this very hour."

It was in vain that Balthazar urged Fitzgerald to delay; the reckless enamoured man insisted on his fantastical desire being obeyed. Paper was produced, and the will was drawn up by Balthazar in due form. "Know ye all men by these presents, that I, Fitzgerald O'Carrol, of Manor Hamilton, in the county of Leitrim, in the kingdom of Ireland, being in sound mind, &c. &c. &c." Then it arrived at the point of the bequest, and that his body was to be buried in the mausoleum of his ancestors, in his native country. More wine was called for by Fitzgerald, and when a thought appeared suddenly to strike the cunning lawyer, he affected to smile; but it was that sort of smile which a low and dirty attorney alone can assume, and he said,

"This is all very well for a jest, and I have thus far humoured you in it."

"It is no jest, signor," replied Fitzgerald; "I am deeply, determinedly in earnest.'

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"If that is the case," continued Balthazar, "what security is there should you happen to die (which all good saints forbid !), that your successors would permit your body to be mutilated, and your heart

torn therefrom?"

"Put any penalty you please upon the refusal," carelessly answered Fitzgerald. "I have received the command of my enchantress to bequeath her my heart!-let that suffice;" and he drained another goblet of burgundy.

Valdarno then inserted in the will words to this effect:

"And if my successors should in any way dispute the positive injunction of this my last will and testament, then the sum of ten thou sand pounds, English currency, shall be forfeited from my estates, and paid to Virginia Honoria Gabrielli, &c. &c."

And now the rash, infatuated Fitzgerald seized a pen, and anxiously was hastening to affix his signature to the will, when Balthazar repressing him, calmly said,

"Hold a moment, we require two witnesses."

A servant born on the estate of Manor Hamilton, by name Michael O'Shea, had accompanied Fitzgerald O'Carrol on his tour. He was foster-brother to his young master: this character among the warmhearted Irish, renders the distance between gentleman and valet in common intercourse, more in the light of an humble but attached friend, than as a menial.

Michael O'Shea was summoned up into the saloon, with a Neapolitan boy, who was engaged as a sort of laquais de place to Fitzgerald. This boy was called Giacomelli Offuscamento, but which name Michael O'Shea (who had only heard it pronounced), would have thus written:

JACK O' MALLY, OF USCAMENTO!

which in grandeur of sound, he thought almost rivalled

MICH. O'SHEA, OF MANOR HAMILTON !!

"Michael," said Fitzgerald, "I have sent for you to witness my signature to this paper: I deliver this as my act and deed;" and he signed it.

Michael was then ordered to subscribe his name as witness, so he took the pen in his big fist, and thrusting' the tip of his tongue beyond his lips, and winking his left eye, he flourished a "Michael O'Shea," aud drew a sort of shillelagh underneath the beautiful specimen of his penmanship.

Balthazar then asked the Neapolitan boy, if he could write, and by a wonderful accident (in those days) the lad was able to answer in the affirmative, so he signed his name on the will.

As O'Shea peeped over his shoulder, he triumphantly in his own mind, compared the two signatures and muttered, "Poor ignorant Italian, he has spelt Jack with a G!"

Balthazar Valdarno under a pretence of having the testament duly registered, took it away with him.

Fitzgerald now daily became more extravagant, and his calls on his agent in Ireland were frequent, and to a large amount. His costly presents to the fair enchantress drained his rents. And Mr. Donovan (the respectable solicitor and agent of Manor Hamilton), besides humbly remonstrating with Fitzgerald by letters, ventured to hint to Mrs. O'Carrol, his mother, his apprehensions that the money was being dissipated too rapidly.

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