social pleasure; but when the season arrived as it inevitably does, in all such vocations, when there comes a lapse in. the attendance and a diminution of classes the alert professor was again induced to change the, to him, congenial sphere of literary cccupation for the hazards and the cares of trade-for which, according to his own confession, he was singularly ill-adapted. This time he prepared to deal in certain Italian commodities, the more choice kind of liquors and confections, and Sudbury in Pennsylvania was the scene of his new enterprise. The account he gives of his experience here forms a curious contrast with that at Venice and Vienna: he accumulates bad debts; is annoyed by old claims; he is robbed; he goes to law; delitti-crimes, usurpazioni-encroachments, tradimenti

swindles-form the burden of this record of the attempt of an Italian poet to do business in an interior American town. There is something so exaggerated in the style of complaint, and so petty in the nature of the grievances, that the "pity of it" is almost lost in a kind of serio-comedy. To add to his troubles, the poor Signore is thrown from a gig, and, for a while, is in the hands of those famous and benign Philadelphia surgeons-Physic and Barton. At last he sells out his stock, but apparently with no "good-will" included; and declares himself, though terribly fleeced by the lawyers, only too happy to escape from the care and persecution of what he calls un nuovo Egitto, and return to his beloved New York. He blesses the day, as did Petrarch that on which he first saw Laura; eloquently describes the cordial reception he received from old friends; he marks the fourteenth of August, 1818, as a white day; "benedetto sia il giorno!" -for then he bade Sudbury l'estremo addio; and declares it was an inspirazione celeste that drew him to study, teaching, and educated society in the metropolis. Indeed, Daponte seems to have then first fairly entered upon a congenial life in America; he describes it with zest and enthusiasm; the Italian

language and literature was a novelty then, and some of the most beautiful and accomplished ladies of the city and suburbs, as well as many of the most intelligent gentlemen, took up the pursuit with zeal: Daponte's geniality and ardor made it attractive. He draws the most flattering portraits of his favorite pupils, dwells gratefully on the kindness of which he was the recipient, and mentions the names of several leading families as associated with his instructions; specimens of the correspondence, interspersed with his reminiscences, indicate remarkable proficiency in Italian among his fair scholars. Dante, Petrarch, and Ariosto, have rarely found so eloquent an expositor. He experienced, in the midst of this agreeable life, a deep affliction in the loss of his son. He passed his summers at a delightful country-place near his friend Livingston's, on the Hudson: some of his pupils were domesticated with him, and no one better improved the opportunities thus afforded than his beloved Enrico Anderson, subsequently professor in Columbia College, who eventually married the daughter of his Italian friend and instructor. In the meantime Daponte presented Italian books to the Public Library, and imported many standard authors from Italy-thus disseminating a taste for his native literature.

He was as stanch and eloquent an advocate of the claims of Italian music as of those of literature. He discussed the former subject with much intelligence and andor, and, soon, with the coöperation of a prominent gentleman in society, Dominic Lynch, enlisted the sympathies of a few influential citizens, who had learned to enjoy the opera abroad. The first company

were welcomed and initiated in New York by his enterprise; and it was a great personal triumph, and delightful social excitement, when the Barbiere and Don Giovanni were first successfully represented in his adopted home; his libretto of the latter, written originally for the original representation of Mozart's masterpiece, was translated when

that was introduced to the New World; and the improvisatore of Venice and operatic poet of Vienna was the hero of the day. At that time society in New York, properly so called, was limited, but cordial and united, and, therefore, there was more unanimity and mutual interest in every social experiment. Daponte's fair pupils were in a state of sympathetic expectancy, and their husbands and fathers embarked generously in the attempt to establish the most recherché amusement of Europe in their thriving city. Numerous are the racy anecdotes, and memorable the lyric triumphs of that occasion. Not only did the popular Italian professor encourage the artists, win over the wealthy patrons, and glory in the whole phenomena, but he came gallantly to the rescue where ignorant critics, or perverse objectors, found fault and breathed discouragement. Indeed, he had become the champion of his country almost to a Quixotic degree; Queen Charlotte's trial, then enacting, had led to many unjust estimates of the Italian national character; Prescott, afterwards our renowned historian, in his early literary essays, chiefly written for the North American Review, had ventured on some critical views of the poets of Italy; both the general and the specific animadversions aroused the sensibility of Daponte, who replied with elaborate, and often exaggerated emphasis, to what he considered slights and slurs on bis country's fair fame. In the retrospect the controversy is more amusing than conclusive. Meantime, knowing the delicate organization of the vocalists, he had taught a worthy American woman the mysteries of the Italian cuisine; so that soprano, contralto, basso, and baritone, were agreeably surprised to find the viands and cookery to which they had been accustomed at home, provided in a New York boardinghouse. The establishment retained its prestige long after the first, second, and third operatic enterprises had failed; for no Italian or old habitué of that classic land, who had ever dined at Aunt Sallie's, was likely to forget the soup,

maccaroni, or red wine, to say nothing of the bread and vegetables-so like what he associated with the trattorias of Florence and Rome; indeed, to dine there, as was my fortune occasionally, and hear la lingua Toscana in bocca Romana, on all sides, with furious discussion of Italian politics and delectable praise of composers and vocalists or pictorial critiques-transported one by magic from Broome-street to the Piazza Vecchia or the Via Condotta. The death of Aunt Sallie, a few years ago, dispersed the few survivors of the circle that succeeded Daponte's singingbirds; and the alimentive associations of his active and magnetic sojourn have no more a "local habitation." It is otherwise, however, with the social vestiges. Some of our elder citizens yet describe his tall figure and handsome face at the opera, "monarch of all he surveyed," infecting others with his enthusiasm, and serving as a vital bond between the musical strangers and the fascinated public. Alternating from his piccolo Eden di campagna, as he calls it, to his winter-classes in town; carrying on the war with malignant compatriots and rivals; struggling with debts; presiding at private theatricals; making Alfieri and the modern Italian writers known to cultivated New Yorkers; enjoying congenial intercourse with his friends; revelling in the cent enthusiasm for Italian opera and growing taste for Italian literature; his bon-mots, his greetings, his verses, his friendships, his scholars, protégés, and domestic amenities made up a varied, exceptional, and complacent life. Corn-beef versus maccaroni, was the problem he loved to state and solve; and the success which attended his efforts to make the Italian element, literary, musical, and prandial, familiar and appreciated in the commercial metropolis of the New World, was certainly a rare triumph of personal zeal and social attraction.

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Since those days, when Daponte was the unique representative and isolated advocate of Italy, her music, her letters, and her language, these have be

come known and endeared, through the many cultivated and patriotic exiles from southern Europe, who have found a congenial home among us-including the favorite veteran Foresti and the noble Garibaldi; a succession of prima donnas have won the suffrages of two generations of opera-habitués, and the Academy of Music, just risen from its ashes in new splendor, attests the permanent hold that amusement has upon the regards of the people. The improvements in the press incident to steam-navigation and newspaper enterprise, have also kept us au courant with the remarkable political development of Italy, during the last twenty years; and among the most popular modern fictions, are the historical and local novels of Guerazzi, d'Azeglio, and Rufini, while every year the number of American winter sojourners in Rome and travellers in Italy increases; so that Ristori found instant and wide appreciation in New York, both professional and social;-all of which is in strong contrast to the times when Daponte was the Italian pioneer.

The little volumes entitled Memorie di Lorenzo Daponte da Ceneda, Scritto da esso: Nuova Yorck, 1829-30, are a literary curiosity-detailing, as they do, with extraordinary egotism, naïveté and vivacity the incidents and emotions of a long and curiously varied life, and written and published in the Italian language in the old age of the author, and in a city whose bustling trade and absorption in the practical and immediate, form such an absolute contrast to the reminiscences of an old Venetian poet.

Compared with the autobiography of Franklin, for instance, or any of the familiar memoirs of our selfmade men, there is a dramatic contrast which brings the spirit and results of the two extremely opposed nationalities into zestful juxtaposition. The Italian, like the American, has his own way to make in the world, but while the one depends on shrewdness, the other relies on manners; while one is thrifty, the other is amorous; this one is good at a bargain, that at a song. Daponte colors

his most commonplace experience with the hues of sentiment; he consoles himself for the few customers who frequent his Italian bookstore, with an appeal in behalf of which he closes his memoirs, by rejoicing that some of the most beautiful women and intelligent men of the city like to come in for a chat; and calls the late benign and beloved author of the "Visit of Saint Nicholas," his angelo tutelare. Now and then he strikes the balance of his account with fortune, and it is always either flush and flowing, or barren and bankrupt. Complacently he writes at one time that he is amato dalle donne, stimato dagli uomini, accarazzato da miei prottettori e pieno di buona speranza,— "loved by women, esteemed by men, caressed by patrons, and full of good hope;" at another moment, he is the victim of malicious persecution, despoiled, cheated, forlorn; the choicest companionship alternates with the most sordid cares and the most child-like literary and musical enthusiasm, with the most unreasonable economic enterprises; while, through operatic imbroglios, unfortunate speculations, and bitter personal controversies, glows a keen relish of social delights, a sustaining self-esteem, a warmth of heart and sensibility to beauty, which strangely unite the real and the romantic. With genuine Italian consistency the sincere in emotion is its justification with Daponte. Alluding to bis numerous love-affairs, he says, Dal primo momento in cui ho comminciato ad amare, il che fu all' eta di diciotto anni, fino al quarantesimo anno, della mia vita, in cui preso una compagna per tutto il rimanente di quella, -no ho mai detto a donna-ti amo, senza saper di poter amarla, senza mancar ad alcun dovere ;-" from the moment I began to fall in love, which was at the age of eighteen, until my fortieth year, when I took a companion for the rest of my life, I never said to a woman, I love you, without knowing that I would do so, and never failed in a single duty." An old pupil of Daponte's tells me that his faith was sometimes a question with his intimates on account of

the inconsistent views he expressed; and when his wife died-an excellent woman, and a great bereavement-he wrote an ode, in which the heathen mythology was singularly blended with the Roman creed, although at the close St. Peter was made to acknowledge that the virtues of the excellent sposa entitled her to heaven, independent of all ecclesiastical dogmas,-she being an angel even while on earth. The appendix to the Memorie contains specimens of Daponte's letters to his pupils, his translation into Italian verse of a portion of Gil Blas, and that of Byron's "Prophecy of Dante," dedicated to his lordship; with some specimens of criticism and controversy-making altogether a singular mélange and an unique record. But a limited edition was printed, and the author did not carry out his intention to add a concluding volume. His accomplished son, who was an endeared professor in the New York University, died in his prime, and we believe a single grandson-young Anderson, who nobly distinguished himself in the War for the Union-is the nearest living descendant of the genial old Italian poet.

It might almost seem a prophetic coincidence of destiny, that at different epochs of his chequered life, Daponte translated "The Vanity of Human Wishes," so well illustrated by the vicissitudes of his career,-" Gil Blas," of whose adventurous experience he was at times the rival, and the "Psalms of David "—fit type of that Hebraic ardor and aspiration which lent dignity and occasional triumph to his influence and enterprise.

Although sixty years old when he arrived in the United States, such was his vigor of mind and body, and his elasticity of temperament, that, besides his nobilis simi alievi, to whom much of his time was devoted, he engaged in a spirited defence of Rossini in the journals, and embarked in the importation of Italian books-a losing speculation, many of them having been eventually sold to the Government, through the intervention of a literary gentleman of New York. Occasionally the veteran teacher

and poet delivered a discourse to his friends and pupils. Of one of these Dr. Francis remarks: "It was published in 1821, and entitled ‘Sull' Italia. Discorso Apologetico in risposta alla lettera dell' avvocato Carlo Phillips.' I was of the audience when Daponte delivered this discourse in English before a large assemblage, with all the earnestness and animation of a great speaker. The copious stores of Daponte's reading can be estimated by a perusal of this vindication of his country and his countrymen. In reference to his native tongue be thus speaks: To her good fortune, Italy for five hundred years has preserved her charming language—that language which, from its united sweetness, delicacy, force, and richness, compares with every ancient language, and surpasses every modern tongue; which equals in sublimity the Greek, the Latin in magnificence, in grandeur and conciseness the Hebrew, the German in boldness, in majesty the Spanish, and the English in energy; that language, in fine, which Providence bestowed on the Italians, because so perfectly adapted, in its almost supernatural harmoniousness, to the delicacy of their organs and perceptions, to the vivacity of their minds, and to the complexion of their ideas and sentiments, and which was formed so justly to illustrate their character." On the occasion of his seventyninth birthday, the evening of the 10th of March, 1828, he addressed his pupils with affectionate eloquence in praise of classic Italian, and in advocacy of the literature of his country as a means of culture and intellectual enjoyment. Two incidens are noted in the latter part of his memoirs with emphasis;-an accidental fall on the ice which kept him two months under surgical care, and the arrival of his brother and niece, after thirty years' separation from Lorenzo. When the New York University was founded, a professorship was proposed to Daponte, but the interest in his native tongue was too limited, and the resources of the institution too small, although subsequently his son was made professor; bookselling

and teaching, as before, were his most available resources.

At the age of ninety Lorenzo Daponte was still a fine-looking man; he had the head of a Roman; his countenance beamed with intelligence and vivacity; his hair was abundant, and fell luxuriantly round his neck, and his manners combined dignity and urbanity to a rare degree. His adventurous operatic career in Venice and London culminating in the bankruptcy of the manager in the latter city, involved him in years of financial difficulty. His attempts to retrieve his fortunes by trade in New Jersey and Pennsylvania were, as we have seen, lamentable failures; but, in 1811, a better prospect opened for him. Teaching, in the best sense of the word, was his vocation; with him it was no technical process, but a labor of love; he won the affections of his pupils, of whom he had, at various times and places, as many as two thousand; "the sweetest moments of existence," says one of them, were those passed in literary conversation and sympathetic study of the leading authors of Italy with the caro maestro." This taste was critical; its exercise and exposition his glory. It was his latest triumph to introduce Garcia and his gifted daughter-destined to bear the palm of vocalism for years, in Europe to the, to him, endeared public of New York; he regarded himself as a kind of bridge whereby the melody and the lore he loved could pass, by social magnetism, from the Qld to the New World; and many a fond reminiscent in music and poetry yet attests the permanent influence of his enthusiasm and knowledge; many a classic author or euphonious impromptu, or gracious personal memory, are cherished among his few surviving pupils, as tokens of those days of æsthetic zeal and pleasure. In one of his letters Daponte observes that he "hoped to kindle a new light in his old age, by the introduction of the Italian opera, and that the allurements of its songs would in some induce, and in others reinvigorate, the desire of comprehending

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a language which is the most delightful vehicle for the transmission of the melody of the voice." Indeed, the advent of the Italian opera in New York rejuvenated Daponte; the enthusiasm when Signorina Garcia was crowned reminded him of the popular ovations in his native land. He had lived through memorable years-in the times of Washington and Mirabeau, Napoleon and Byron, Scott and Mozart. His youthful aspect is described in Kelly's Reminiscences, and his first operatic poems in the memoirs of Mozart, while his old age was identified with the social culture of New York. A life of more interesting personal associations and greater vicissitudes it is difficult to imagine. It closed with serenity and under the most benign auspices. had so entirely the command of his faculties, during his last illness, that he wrote tributary verses to his kind physician, Dr. John W. Francis, and translated with accuracy and grace a portion of the poem of Hadad by Hillhouse. His death was not unexpected: "Two days before that event," writes one of his admirers, "his sick-chamber presented an interesting spectacle; his attached medical attendant, perceiving symptoms of approaching dissolution, notified his numerous friends of the change in the venerable patient. It was one of those afternoons of waning summer, when the mellow sunset foretells approaching autumn. The old poet's magnificent head lay upon a sea of pillows, and the conscious eye still shed its beams of regard upon all around him. Besides several of his countrymen, were assembled some remnants of the old Italian troupe, who knelt for a farewell blessing around the pallet of their expiring bard; among them might be seen the fine head of Fornasari, and Bagioli's benevolent countenance. All wept as the patriarch bade them an affectionate and earnest farewell, and implored a blessing on their common country. The doctor, watching the flickerings of the life-torch, stood at the head of the couch, and a group of tearful women at the foot, completed a