Slipping away to house with them beneath, His old companions in that hiding-place, The bat, the toad, the blind-worm, and the newt; Some there are And hark, a footstep, firm and confident, As of a man in haste. Nearer it draws; And now is at the entrance of the den. Ha! 't is a comrade, sent to gather in The band for some great enterprise.

And thou hast found at last. Were I as thou,
I in thy grasp as thou art now in ours,
Soon should I make a midnight-spectacle,
Soon, limb by limb, be mangled on a wheel,
Then gibbeted to blacken for the vultures.
But I would teach thee better-how to spare.
Write as I dictate. If thy ransom comes,
Thou livest. If not-but answer not, I pray,
Lest thou provoke me. I may strike thee dead;
And know, young man, it is an easier thing
To do it than to say it. Write, and thus."-

who now kept guard,
Young he seem'd,
indulge at will

I wrote. ""T is well," he cried. "A peasant-boy,
Trusty and swift of foot, shall bear it hence.
Meanwhile lie down and rest. This cloak of mine
Will serve thee; it has weather'd many a storm."
The watch was set; and twice it had been changed,
When morning broke, and a wild bird, a hawk,
Flew in a circle, screaming. I look'd up,
And all were gone, save him
And on his arms lay musing.
And sad, as though he could
Some secret sorrow. "Thou shrink'st back," he said.
"Well may'st thou, lying, as thou dost, so near
A ruffian-one for ever link'd and bound
To guilt and infamy. There was a time
When he had not perhaps been deem'd unworthy,
When he had watch'd that planet to its setting,
And dwelt with pleasure on the meanest thing
That Nature has given birth to. Now 't is past.

None else were by; and, as I gazed unseen,
Her youth, her innocence and gaiety
Went to my heart; and, starting up, I cried,
Fly-for your life! Alas, she shriek'd, she fell;
And, as I caught her falling, all rush'd forth.
A Wood-nymph!' said Rusconi. By the light,
Lovely as Hebe! Lay her in the shade.'
I heard him not. I stood as in a trance.
What,' he exclaim'd with a malicious smile,
Wouldst thou rebel?' I did as he required.
Now bear her hence to the well-head below.
A few cold drops will animate this marble.
Go! "T is an office all will envy thee;
But thou hast earn'd it.'

As I stagger'd down,
Unwilling to surrender her sweet body;
Her golden hair dishevell'd on a neck
Of snow, and her fair eyes closed as in sleep,
Frantic with love, with hate, Great God!' I cried.
(I had almost forgotten how to pray)

Why may I not, while yet—while yet I can,
Release her from a thraldom worse than death?'
"T was done as soon as said. I kiss'd her brow
And smote her with my dagger. A short cry
She utter'd, but she stirred not; and to heaven
Her gentle spirit fled. "T was where the path
In its descent turn'd suddenly. No eye
Observed me, though their steps were following fast.
But soon a yell broke forth, and all at once
Levell'd their deadly aim. Then I had ceased
To trouble or be troubled, and had now
(Would I were there!) been slumbering in my grave
Had not Rusconi with a terrible shout
Thrown himself in between us, and exclaim'd,
Grasping my arm, "T is bravely, nobly done!
Thou wouldst be free, and Is it for deeds like these thou wear'st a sword?
Was this the business that thou camest upon?
-But 't is his first offence, and let it pass.
Like the young tiger he has tasted blood,
And may do much hereafter. He can strike
Home to the hilt.' Then in an under-tone,
Thus wouldst thou justify the pledge I gave,
When in the eyes of all I read distrust?
For once,' and on his cheek, methought, I saw
The blush of virtue, I will save thee, Albert;
Again, I cannot.'"

“Wouldst thou know more? My story is an old one.
1 loved, was scorn'd; I trusted, was betray'd;
And in my anguish, my necessity,
Met with the fiend, the tempter-in Rusconi.
'Why thus? he cried.

darest not.

Come and assert thy birth-right while thou canst.
A robber's cave is better than a dungeon;
And death itself, what is it at the worst,
What, but a harlequin's leap? Him I had known,
Had served with, suffer'd with; and on the walls
Of Capua, while the moon went down, I swore
Allegiance on his dagger.

Dost thou ask

How I have kept my oath? Thou shalt be told,
Cost what it may.-But grant me, I implore,
Grant me a passport to some distant land,
That I may never, never more be named.
Thou wilt, I know thou wilt.

Two months ago,
When on a vineyard-hill we lay conceal'd
And scattered up and down as we were wont,
I heard a damsel singing to herself,
And soon espied her, coming all alone,
In her first beauty Up a path she came
Leafy and intricate, singing her song,
A song of love, by snatches; breaking off
If but a flower, an insect in the sun
Pleased for an instant; then as carelessly
The strain resuming, and, where'er she stopt,
Rising on tiptoe underneath the boughs
To pluck a grape in very wantonness.
Her look, her mien and maiden-ornaments
Show'd gentle birth; and, step by step, she came
Nearer and nearer to the dreadful snare.

Ere his tale was told,
As on the heath we lay, my ransom came;
And in six days, with no ungrateful mind,
Albert was sailing on a quiet sea.

-But the night wears, and thou art much in need
Of rest. The young Antonio, with his torch,
Is waiting to conduct thee to thy chamber.

XV.
NAPLES.

THIS region, surely, is not of the earth.'
Was it not dropt from heaven? Not a grove,
Citron, or pine, or cedar, not a grot
Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine,
But breathes enchantment. Not a cliff but flings
On the clear wave some image of delight,
Some cabin-roof glowing with crimson flowers,

1 Un pezzo di cielo caduto in terra.-Sannazaro.

Has stopt to scrawl a ship, an armed man;
And in a tablet on the wall we read
Of shows ere-long to be) a sculptor wrought,
Nor meanly; blocks, half-chisell'd into life,
Waiting his call. Here long, as yet attests
The trodden floor, an olive-merchant drew
From many an ample jar, no more replenish'd;
And here from his a vintner served his guests
Largely, the stain of his o'erflowing cups
Fresh on the marble. On the bench, beneath,
They sate and quaff'd, and look'd on them that pass'd,
Gravely discussing the last news from Rome.

But lo, engraven on a threshold-stone,
That word of courtesy, so sacred once,
Hail! At a master's greeting we may enter.
And lo, a fairy palace! everywhere,

As through the courts and chambers we advance,
Floors of mosaic, walls of arabesque,
And columns clustering in Patrician splendor.
But hark, a footstep! May we not intrude?
And now, methinks, I hear a gentle laugh,
And gentle voices mingling as in converse!
-And now a harp-string as struck carelessly,
And now-along the corridor it comes-
I cannot err, a filling as of baths!

-Ah, no, 't is but a mockery of the sense,
Idle and vain! We are but where we were;
Still wandering in a City of the Dead!

XVI.

THE BAG OF GOLD.

I DINE Very often with the good old Cardinal *** and, I should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his table, and are much the gravest of the company. His beaming countenance makes us forget his age nor did I ever see it clouded till yesterday, when, as we were contemplating the sun-set from his terrace, he happened, in the course of our conversation, to allude to an affecting circumstance in his early life.

unwilling to hear it, for it bears some resemblance to that of the Merchant of Venice.

We were now arrived at a pavilion that commanded one of the noblest prospects imaginable; the mountains, the sea, and the islands illuminated by the last beams of day; and, sitting down there, he |proceeded with his usual vivacity; for the sadness, that had come across him, was gone.

There lived in the fourteenth century, near Bologna, a widow-lady of the Lambertini family, called Madonna Lucrezia, who in a revolution of the state had known the bitterness of poverty, and had even begged her bread; kneeling day after day like a statue at the gate of the cathedral; her rosary in her left hand and her right held out for charity; her long black veil concealing a face that had once adorned a court, and had received the homage of as many son. nets as Petrarch has written on Laura.

But fortune had at last relented; a legacy from a distant relation had come to her relief; and she was now the mistress of a small inn at the foot of the Apennines; where she entertained as well as she could, and where those only stopped who were contented with a little. The house was still standing, when in my youth I passed that way; though the sign of the White Cross, the Cross of the Hospitallers, was no longer to be seen over the door; a sign which she had taken, if we may believe the tradition there, in honor of a maternal uncle, a grand-master of that Order, whose achievements in Palestine she would sometimes relate. A mountain-stream ran through the garden; and at no great distance, where the road turned on its way to Bologna, stood a little chapel, in which a lamp was always burning before a picture of the Virgin, a picture of great antiquity, the work of some Greek artist.

Here she was dwelling, respected by all who knew her; when an event took place, which threw her into the deepest affliction. It was at noon-day in September that three foot-travellers arrived, and, He had just left the University of Palermo and seating themselves on a bench under her vine-trellis, was entering the army, when he became acquainted were supplied with a flagon of Aleatico by a lovely with a young lady of great beauty and merit, a girl, her only child, the image of her former self. Sicilian of a family as illustrious as his own. Living The eldest spoke like a Venetian, and his beard was near each other, they were often together; and, at short and pointed after the fashion of Venice. In his an age like theirs, friendship soon turns to love. But demeanor he affected great courtesy, but his look inhis father, for what reason I forget, refused his con- spired little confidence; for when he smiled, which sent to their union; till, alarmed at the declining he did continually, it was with his lips only, not with health of his son, he promised to oppose it no longer, if, after a separation of three years, they continued as much in love as ever.

his eyes; and they were always turned from yours. His companions were bluff and frank in their manner, and on their tongues had many a soldier's oath. Relying on that promise, he said, I set out on a In their hats they wore a medal, such as in that age long journey, but in my absence the usual arts were was often distributed in war; and they were eviresorted to. Our letters were intercepted; and false dently subalterns in one of those Free Bands which rumors were spread-first of my indifference, then were always ready to serve in any quarrel, if a ser of my inconstancy, then of my marriage with a rich vice it could be called, where a battle was little more heiress of Sienna; and, when at length I returned than a mockery; and the slain, as on an opera-stage, to make her my own, I found her in a convent of were up and fighting to-morrow. Overcome with the Ursuline Nuns. She had taken the veil; and I, said heat, they threw aside their cloaks; and, with their he with a sigh-what else remained for me?—I went gloves tucked under their belts, continued for some into the church. time in earnest conversation.

Yet many, he continued, as if to turn the conver- At length they rose to go; and the Venetians thus sation, very many have been happy though we were addressed their Hostess. "Excellent Lady, may we not; and, if I am not abusing an old man's privilege, leave under your roof, for a day or two, this bag of let me tell you a story with a better catastrophe. It gold?" "You may," she replied gaily. "But rememwas told to me when a boy; and you may not be ber, we fasten only with a latch. Bars and bolts,

we have none in our village; and, if we had, where curtain, lest her beauty should divert their thoughts; would be your security?"

"In your word, Lady."

"But what if I died to-night? Where would it be then?" said she, laughing. "The money would go to the Church; for none could claim it."

a precaution in this instance at least unnecessary, Lorenzo having lost his heart to another.'

To him she flies in her necessity; but of what assistance can he be? He has just taken his place at the bar, but he has never spoken; and how stand up

"Perhaps you will favor us with an acknowledg-alone, unpractised and unprepared as he is, against

ment."

"If you will write it."

an array that would alarm the most experienced ?—— Were I as mighty as I am weak," said he, "my An acknowledgment was written accordingly, and fears for you would make me as nothing. But I will she signed it before Master Bartolo, the village phy- be there, Gianetta; and may the Friend of the sician who had just called by chance to learn the news Friendless give me strength in that hour! Even now of the day; the gold to be delivered when applied my heart fails me; but, come what will, while I have for, but to be delivered (these were the words) not to a loaf to share, you and your mother shall never want. one-nor to two-but to the three; words wisely I will beg through the world for you." introduced by those to whom it belonged, knowing The day arrives, and the court assembles. The what they knew of each other. The gold they had claim is stated, and the evidence given. And now the just released from a miser's chest in Perugia; and defence is called for-but none is made; not a sylthey were now on a scent that promised more. lable is uttered; and, after a pause and a consultaThey and their shadows were no sooner departed, tion of some minutes, the Judges are proceeding to than the Venetian returned, saying, “Give me leave give judgment, silence having been proclaimed in to set my seal on the bag, as the others have done;" the court, when Lorenzo rises and thus addresses and she placed it on a table before him. But in that moment she was called away to receive a Cavalier, who had just dismounted from his horse; and, when she came back, it was gone. The temptation had proved irresistible; and the man and the money had vanished together.

"Wretched woman that I am!" she cried, as in an agony of grief she fell on her daughter's neck, "What will become of us? Are we again to be cast out into the wide world?—Unhappy child, would that thou hadst never been born!" and all day long she lamented; but her tears availed her little. The others were not slow in returning to claim their due; and there were no tidings of the thief: he had fled far away with his plunder. A process against her was instantly begun in Bologna; and what defence could she make?-how release herself from the obligation of the bond? Wilfully or in negligence she had parted with it to one, when she should have kept it| for all; and inevitable ruin awaited her!

"Go, Gianetta," said she to her daughter, "take this veil which your mother has worn and wept under so often, and implore the Counsellor Calderino to plead for us on the day of trial. He is generous, and will listen to the unfortunate. But, if he will not, go from door to door; Monaldi cannot refuse us. Make haste, my child; but remember the chapel as you pass by it. Nothing prospers without a prayer." Alas, she went, but in vain. These were retained against them; those demanded more than they had to give; and all bade them despair. What was to be done? No advocate; and the cause to come on to-morrow!

them.

"Reverend Signors. Young as I am, may I venture to speak before you? I would speak in behalf of one who has none else to help her; and I will not keep you long.

"Much has been said; much on the sacred nature of the obligation-and we acknowledge it in its full force. Let it be fulfilled, and to the last letter. It is what we solicit, what we require. But to whom is the bag of gold to be delivered? What says the bond? Not to one-not to two-but to the three. Let the three stand forth and claim it."

From that day, (for who can doubt the issue?) none were sought, none employed, but the subtle, the eloquent Lorenzo. Wealth followed Fame; nor need I say how soon he sat at his marriage-feast, or who sat beside him.

XVII.

A CHARACTER.
ONE of two things Montrioli may have,
My envy or compassion. Both he cannot.
Yet on he goes, numbering as miseries,
What least of all he would consent to lose,
What most indeed he prides himself upon,
And, for not having, most despises me.
"At morn the minister exacts an hour;
At noon the king. Then comes the council-board;
And then the chase, the supper. When, ah! when,
The leisure and the liberty I sigh for?
Not when at home; at home a miscreant-crew,
That now no longer serve me, mine the service.
And then that old hereditary bore,

He clanks his fetters to disturb my peace.
Yet who would wear them, and become the slave

Now Gianetta had a lover; and he was a student The steward, his stories longer than his rent-roll, of the law, a young man of great promise, Lorenzo Who enters, quill in ear, and, one by one, Martelli. He had studied long and diligently under As though I lived to write and wrote to live, that learned lawyer, Giovanni Andreas, who, though Unrolls his leases for my signature." little of stature, was great in renown, and by his contemporaries was called the Arch-doctor, the Rabbi of Doctors, the Light of the World. Under him he had studied, sitting on the same bench with Petrarch; and also under his daughter, Novella, who would often lecture to the scholars, when her father was otherwise engaged, placing herself behind a small

1 Ce pourroit être, says Bayle, la matière d'un joli problême: le profit de ses auditeurs, en leur cachant son beau visage. lly on pourroit examiner si cette fille avancoit, ou si elle retardoit auroit cent choses à dire pour et contre là-dessus.