nd published in
book-form, they met with the cordial approbation of the critics. These
letters are marked by purity of style, quaint picturesqueness, and an
admirable _couleur locale_. As a translator, Mrs. Trollope possesses
very rare ability. Her natural aptitude for language is great. A
residence in Italy of seventeen years has made her almost as familiar
with the mother-tongue of Dante as with that of Shakspeare; and we make
bold to say that Giovan Battista Niccolini's most celebrated tragedy,
"Arnaldo da Brescia," loses none of its Italian lustre in Mrs.
Trollope's setting of English blank-verse,--Ah! we cannot soon forget
the first time that we saw this same Niccolini, the greatest poet of
modern Italy! It was in the spring of 1860, upon the memorable
inauguration of the Theatre Niccolini,--_ci-devant_ Cocomero,
(water-melon,)--when Florence gave its first public reception to the
poet, who was not only Tuscan, but Italianissimo, and rendered more than
a passing homage to his name in the new baptism of a charming theatre.
Since 1821 Niccolini had been fighting for the good cause with pen as
cutting as Damascus blade; the goal was not reached until the veteran of
eighty-two, paralyzed in body and mind, was borne into the presence of
an enthusiastic audience to receive its bravos. So lately as the
previous year the Ducal government had suppressed a demonstration in
Niccolini's favor: _this_ night must have atoned for the persecutions of
the past. It was then that we heard Rossi, the great actor, declaim
entire scenes from "Arnold of Brescia"; and though he stood before us as
plain citizen Rossi in a lustrous suit of broadcloth, the fervor and
intensity with which he interpreted the master-thoughts of Niccolini
forced the audience to see in him the embodiment of the grand
patriot-priest. We have witnessed but few greater dramatic performances;
never have we been present at so impassioned a political demonstration.
Freedom of speech was but just born to Italy, and Florence drew a long
breath in the presence of a national teacher. Eighteen months later
Niccolini gazed for the last time upon Italy, and saw the fulfilment of
his prophecies.

We wish there were a copy of Mrs. Trollope's translation of "Arnaldo da
Brescia" in America, that we might make noble extracts, and cause other
eyes to glisten with the fire of its passion. We can recall but one
passage, a speech made by Arnaldo to the recreant Pope Adrian. It is as