mostly of the luminaries of his own profession; his conversation was much about books; he spoke of books critically, and as he had a good memory, he repeated many passages, especially of some of the more modern poets; and in reading or quoting, he had a very peculiar and prosy mode of utterance. In his expressions of admiration he was very enthusiastic; but his only censure was silence. Being, as it should seem, much pleased with his own peculiar eloquence of encomium, he was most pleased with praising; and so ingenious was his praise, that he not unfrequently found in his favorite writers beauties which the authors themselves were not aware of. Many others have been accused of doing the same; but we will vindicate them and him by observing, that it is quite as possible for an author to strike out beauties of which himself is unconscious and undesigning, as it is for an artist, by an accidental touch of his pencil, to “snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.” The mind is not always conscious of the gracefulness of its transient and unstudied attitudes. We could say much more of Markham, but we must postpone it. Our present concern is with the mind of Clara Rivolta, and her sentiments of and towards this young man. He was to all intents the most agreeable man she had seen since her arrival in England; and his slight tincture of pedantry, and his love of quotation and recitation, tedious and stupid as they might have been to many others, were to her peculiarly agreeable. Men’s hearts are stolen through the eye--women’s through the ear. Clara was pleased with Markham’s voice because she liked poetry; and as the poetry first rendered his company delightful, and his voice to her ear musical, so in process of time his company and his voice rendered the poetical extracts more pleasing. Markham also understood Italian; but to a native of Italy he would not read or recite her own poetry; but he often brought to her Italian poetry, and her bright eyes sparkled at the sight, and she began to like the English people better, because they had paid reverence to the poets of her native land by printing their works beautifully. Markham wished to hear the poetry of Italy read by a native; Clara could not refuse him, because he had been so obliging as to read much English poetry to her; but she was almost afraid to read to him, because she could not read so well as he could. That is a pretty and pardonable piece of vanity. But the fact is, Markham did not read so remarkably well: he had a singing kind of a tone; he read in a kind of recitative; some used to say he read very ill. We should wish these people to be sentenced to hear reading without a tone. At all events, Markham’s reading was very pleasant to Clara; and to Markham’s ear there was no music so sweet as Clara’s voice. She had read to him two or three of the sonnets of Petrarch; and Markham thought that he should recollect the melody of that voice when he should be afar off sailing on the mighty deep.