Late at night Mr Chaloner was announced. He had heard the whole story from his worthy half; was in hopes he should be able to meet our wishes, but must consult his chief. If _he_ agreed, he would see us before ten next morning--if not, we were to consider that the furniture could not be put in. And again we were slightly in the dumps. At half-past nine next morning we rang the bell, and ordered a carriage to be at the door at ten. If we hear from Chaloner, we shall drive at once to the Baskerville Arms; if not, there is no use of house-hunting in such an inhospitable region any more; let us get back to our friend at Abergavenny. If there is no house near _it_, let us go back to Chepstow; if we are disappointed there, let us go home, and tell the doctor we have changed the air enough. Ten o'clock.--No Chaloner; but, as usual, also no carriage. Half-past ten.--No Chaloner. At eleven--the carriage;--and behold, in three hours more, the smiling face of Mr Morgan--the great long room and clean apartments of the Angel, and the end of our expectations of house and home, except in an hotel. We have no time on the present occasion to tell how fortune smiled upon us at last. How our landlord exerted himself, not only to make us happy while under his charge, but to get us into comfortable quarters in a large commodious house in the neighbourhood. In some future Number we will relate how jollily we fare in our new abode. How we are waited on like kings by the kindest host and hostess that ever held a farm; and how we travel in all directions, leaving the little ones at home, in a great strong gig, drawn by a horse that hobbles and joggles at a famous pace, and gives us plenty of good exercise and hearty laughter. All these things we will describe for the edification of people under similar circumstances to ourselves. The present lucubration being intended as a warning not to move from _one_ home till another is secured; the next will be an example how country quarters are enjoyed, and a description of how pale cheeks are turned into red ones by living in the open air. TORQUATO TASSO. Any thing approaching to an elaborate criticism of the _Torquato Tasso_ of Goethe we do not, in this place, intend to attempt; our object is merely to translate some of the more striking and characteristic passages, and accompany these extracts with such explanatory remarks as may be necessary to render them quite intelligible.