He took up the guitar, which, among their musical instruments, the serenaders had brought, and after touching its chords for a few moments, said: "After all, Madame, in your society, and with this moonlit lake before us, we feel as if music were our best medium of conversation.

Let us prevail upon these gentlemen to delight us once more." "You forestall what I was going to ask," said the ex-singer; and Maltravers offered the guitar to Tirabaloschi, who was in fact dying to exhibit his powers again.

He took the instrument with a slight grimace of modesty, and then saying to Madame de Montaigne, "There is a song composed by a young friend of mine, which is much admired by the ladies; though to me it seems a little too sentimental," sang the following stanzas (as good singers are wont to do) with as much feeling as if he could understand them! NIGHT AND LOVE.
When stars are in the quiet skies, Then most I pine for thee; Bend on me, then, thy tender eyes! As stars look on the sea! For thoughts, like waves that glide by night, Are stillest where they shine; Mine earthly love lies hushed in light Beneath the heaven of thine.
There is an hour when angels keep Familiar watch on men; When coarser souls are wrapt in sleep,-- Sweet spirit, meet me then.
There is an hour when holy dreams Through slumber fairest glide; And in that mystic hour it seems Thou shouldst be by my side.
The thoughts of thee too sacred are For daylight's common beam;-- I can but know thee as my star, My angel, and my dream! And now, the example set, and the praises of the fair hostess exciting general emulation, the guitar circled from hand to hand, and each of the Italians performed his part; you might have fancied yourself at one of the old Greek feasts, with the lyre and the myrtle-branch going the round.
But both the Italians and the Englishman felt the entertainment would be incomplete without hearing the celebrated vocalist and improvvisatrice who presided over the little banquet; and Madame de Montaigne, with a woman's tact, divined the general wish, and anticipated the request that was sure to be made.

She took the guitar from the last singer, and turning to Maltravers, said, "You have heard, of course, some of our more eminent improvvisatori, and therefore if I ask you for a subject it will only be to prove to you that the talent is not general amongst the Italians." "Ah," said Maltravers, "I have heard, indeed, some ugly old gentlemen with immense whiskers, and gestures of the most alarming ferocity, pour out their vehement impromptus; but I have never yet listened to a young and a handsome lady.

I shall only believe the inspiration when I hear it direct from the Muse." "Well, I will do my best to deserve your compliments--you must give me the theme." Maltravers paused a moment, and suggested the Influence of Praise on Genius.
The improvvisatrice nodded assent, and after a short prelude broke forth into a wild and varied strain of verse, in a voice so exquisitely sweet, with a taste so accurate, and a feeling so deep that the poetry sounded to the enchanted listeners like the language that Armida might have uttered.