I looked over my shoulder. The wretch who spoke was a little corpulent man, and reminded me of one of Rubens' satyrs. There was a most revolting leer on his countenance, which suggested to my mind not her death,-which was a mercy, but the miserable fate that preceded it. I remembered the story of the peasant girl in the Tales of a Traveller, and shuddered.

Turning round again to that iron-visaged wretch, Geronymo, I said to him,

"Have you no remorse, Geronymo, for all the murders you have committed ?"

"Remorse !" he replied, as though he did not understand the meaning of the word: "ought not a good soldier to obey the word of command? Whenever the captain said 'Amazza!' amazzava."

"Avete amazzato molte ?" I asked.

"Si, signor, moltissime," he replied, with the greatest nonchalance. His eye lighted up, as he spoke, with a gloomy joy.

I turned from him as from a basilisk, and almost thought I heard the death-rattle of one of his victims.

As I was about to leave the Bagno, I met a capuchin, their confessor. It was the same who had persuaded Gasparoni to deliver himself up to the Roman authorities. I took him aside, and entered into conversation with him. He was a man advanced in age, and of a physiognomy such as I have observed to be common to almost all ecclesiastics in Italy,-heavy, dull, and unmeaning. He told me that Gasparoni and most of his band were very religious, and went regularly to mass and confession. He added, that he had petitioned the holy father for their liberation, and that he had no doubt, if released, that they would now make good subjects.

"The Pope," I observed, "knows them too well by past experience to trust such wretches at large again."

What tales might not this man reveal! but I found he was disinclined to be communicative, and in a hurry to commence his duties. I wished him therefore a buon giorno.

When we have voluntarily shut ourselves up in a Bagno with its unhappy inmates, it seems as though the return to liberty was interdicted to us,-that we are the victims to some snare, and that the iron gates of the prison are actually closed on us for ever. But a moment's reflection dissipates the fearful illusion, and we abandon ourselves, as Lucretius describes those who behold a storm at a distance, to the pleasure derived from our own security; or as we do when leaning over the parapet of a precipice. But, at the same time, I rushed through the open doors like a captive on being delivered from his chains, and, having emerged from the gloomy gateway, breathed more freely, inhaled with a new delight the sea-breeze, and stood watching the sun sink slowly through the vaporous atmosphere till it had totally disappeared below the waters. Then I returned to my inn, reflecting that I had perhaps just seen the last of the bandits. And yet the scene I had witnessed left no impression behind it such as I had expected; it furnished no stores to feed the imagination or to awaken the enthusiasm of art. The poetry of banditism has perished in the citadel of Cività Vecchia.

THE GLORIES OF GOOD HUMOUR.

BY GODFREY GOODFELLOW.

"Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus."—HOR.

WHAT a charming thing good humour is! How superexcellent and inestimable a quality, or character, or attribute of the mind! Yes, I unhesitatingly declare there is nothing like it. It is the only true key to the casket of happiness, the real source of all this world's enjoyments, the potent mithridate of misery, the balm of life, the caredispelling Nepenthe, the rich restoring heavenly elixir drawn by wisdom from the alembic of content.

The good-humoured man is the only true philosopher. He alone knows how to enjoy life. He is wiser far than all the grave Saturnine star-gazers and moralists in the world. Is he not? Why, of what use is all our philosophy if it does not enable a man to be merry and live happy? Psha! to give way to grief, to allow the mind to succumb to despondency, is certainly to exhibit our poor humanity in one of the most ridiculous positions in which it could be placed. Diogenes, domiciled in a tub, cuts rather a curious figure amidst the sages of antiquity; and so do a host of others: but, certainly, Heraclitus in tears exhibits the weakness of human nature more glaringly than any of them. Grieving, forsooth! Why, 'tis just as if a man, plunging into the sea, should tie a stone about his neck in order to enable him to swim the better. Grieving is indeed a bad sort of a safety-jacket in a "sea of troubles." No: give me the good-humoured man; the fine, gay, jovial fellow, whom no disasters can depress; the true minion of merriment and fun, whom no sorrows can sadden; the genuine votary of "heart-easing mirth," whose mind, like the lark at sunrise, is ever cheerful and gay;

"Whose wit can brighten up a winter's day,

And chase the splenetic dull hours away.'

Give me such a man; his philosophy is worth all the dogmas, and rules, and precepts, that ever were expounded in the Academe, the Porch, or the Lycæum.

What should I be now-or, rather, where should I be—but for my good humour? Alas! perhaps sailing the Styx in company with Charon; or, not having the ferry money, wandering disconsolate upon the banks, (for it is only the good-humoured, such as Menippus, that can manage to get over passage-free.) But here I am now, a fine, fat, rubicund fellow,-and all, I say it unhesitatingly, owing to my good humour. Good humour, thou hast indeed been to me a true, and kind, and trusty benefactress! Oh! thou fair, and sweet, and lovely thing, in whatever form thou holdest communion with mortals: whether thou art an immaterial essence that blends at will with our mortal bodies or whether thou art something more loving and palpable, -that light, blithe, blue-eyed maid,

"Whom lovely Venus at a birth,

With two sister graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;"

or whether a wild spirit, a lovely Ariel of the air, thou transfusest thyself into all the beautiful things of this world, the green fields, and the silvery streams, and the sunny skies, and then, rich with the sheen of their loveliness, comest into the presence-chamber of the mind, fixest thyself in the great senate of the senses, cheering and gladdening all their emotions!-whatever thou art, good humour,-be thou a bodiless essence, a lovely maid, a lively spirit, or any other modification of the mysterious and the beautiful, I love thee; love thee as dearly as ever Orpheus loved his Eurydice, Petrarch his Laura, or Waller his Sacharissa. Thou art the harbinger of comfort, the inductress of joy, the dove that bringest to mortals the olive of happiness and peace. Without thee what were life ?—a dull, dreary, uninteresting scene,-a bare, bleak, barren, joyless, empyreanless

Stop-stop-stop-stop!-halloo, Pegasus! where the devil are you going to? Soho! softly; not quite so high if you please; much as you admire good humour, do, pray! stay a little nearer to the confines of this" visible diurnal sphere."

"Who are you? where do you come from? You have no right to be dealing out such fulsome panegyrics about good humour."

Yes, but I have, though; I am universally acknowledged to be the most good-humoured man on town. The pure blood of the Allwits, the Easymirths, and the Goodfellows, flows in my veins. I am heir to a large property in Merryland, and my residence is at Jollity Hall, a picturesque, romantic spot in the county of Greatlaughtershire. I intend to start at the next general election for the borough of Gaybright; when I shall bring in such a measure of reform as shall astonish all our modern menders of constitutions.

I have every right, then, to descant upon the merits of good humour; and I do so the rather because men do not sufficiently appreciate them.

Now I fully agree with Dr. Johnson in thinking that "good humour is the quality to which everything in this life owes its power of pleasing." It is the one great source from which spring all those innumerable streams of enjoyment that intersect, and refresh, and beautify the social and moral world. It is, like Fame, "the spur that the clear spirit doth raise" above the fogs, and the damps, and the vapours that so often hang over and darken this sublunary scene. It is the grand moral alkali that completely neutralizes the corrosive acerbity of all this world's cares and sorrows. It is a pure heavenly sunshine illumining the chambers of the soul; a coal from heaven's own golden hearth, that warms into a congenial and ever-during glow all the best and kindliest emotions of our nature

How different, indeed, would be the condition of the world if a system of good humour were universally established! For what is it but the absence of good humour that is the cause of almost all the troubles of life? All the wars that have desolated the world spring from no other origin. Kings and rulers wanting good humour have fallen out, and whole nations have been set at loggerheads:

"Quicquid delirant reges plectuntur Achivi."

Now, if good humour universally influenced the actions of men, there would be none of these things; war would be at an end. General Evans might then attend to his parliamentary duties. The "mailed Mars

might " on his altar sit," but it would not be " up to the ears in blood." He might lay by his lance, and commence smoking the calumet of peace. Again, we should have no need of that noisy, brawling, troublesome class of men yclept lawyers, for it is plainly from the absence of good humour that all the litigation in the world takes its rise. The gentlemen of the long robe might then leave silk gowns to their ladies, and transfer their pleading to some other court than a court of law. At all events, the world would be freed from their forensic displays, for men would be on such good terms with each other that there would be no need of law terms to set them right. And also, under a general system of good humour, we should be freed from all the turmoil and contention of politics. Tithes, and church-rates, and corporation bills, would no longer afford such scope for violent and angry declamation. Would not this be glorious? As for our physicians, they might shut up shop, for there is no such admirable conservative of the constitution as good humour,-it being generally admitted that all diseases take their rise from the prevalence of bad humour in the blood. These disciples of Galen, then,-these knights of the lancet,might become philosophers, and study physics instead of physic; or they might devote themselves to analyse the faculties of the mind, and thus, instead of physicians, become metaphysicians.

But, indeed, the ramifications are so numerous, that it would not be easy to follow out and describe all the innumerable advantages that would result from the establishment of an universal system of good humour.

And thus we are enabled at once to explain what the poets have meant by the Golden Age. It was plainly nothing else than the reign of universal good humour. The proof is quite obvious. Gold is the most excellent of metals,-good humour is the most excellent of the qualities of the mind; and therefore, the analogy being so striking, the poets at once styled this happy period the Golden Age. And hence it is evident that good humour is the only true philosopher's stone.

"This is the charm by sages often told,

Converting all it touches into gold.

Content can soothe, where'er by Fortune placed :
Can rear a garden in the desert waste."

In this passage "content" is only another name for good humour. Cease, then, ye followers of the Hermetic art, cease toiling over your crucibles; good humour is the true moral alchemy that will really enrich and ameliorate mankind.

This, then, is the reform bill which I intend to introduce as soon as I have the honour of a seat in the house; a bill for striking out, arranging, devising, and establishing some plan by which good humour may be reduced to a system; so that henceforward it will be the cardinal principle of life, the rule by which all the actions of men shall be guided, regulated, and directed. Let me but pass this; and then, my country! thy happiness is secured. Let us hear no more about the ballot, and universal suffrage, and all those Utopian. schemes of our modern speculators. Let us have no more hunting after a visionary political optimism; good humour is the only one thing necessary to bring all our civil institutions to a state of complete perfection. "Give me," said Archimedes, " a point in extra

mundane space, and I will remove the solid earth from its foundations." "Give me," say I, "good humour, and I will uproot all miseries, and contentions, and quarrellings from the world." Away with all the nostrums of our moralists and philosophers !-good humour is the one sole, infallible panacea for all the ills of life. Misfortunes may lower, and disappointments may assail; but still the mind of the goodhumoured man, like a Delos emerging from the deep, rises buoyant above them all. Hurrah, then, for an eternal, cloudless, bright, jovial, unsubduable good humour! Let us have nothing but good humour! Let a cheerful smile be for ever playing upon the happy faces of our lovely wives; let our children be born in good humour, and in good humour let them grow up; let the girls be taught to smile with their mother's smile, and the boys after the manner of their father; and thus we shall be taking the best way to establish and consolidate one vast, wide, universal empire of love, happiness, and joy!

SONG OF THE MODERN TIME.

OH how the world has alter'd since some fifty years ago,

When coats and shoes would really serve to keep out rain and snow;
But double soles and broadcloth,-oh, dear me! how very low

To talk of such old-fashion'd things, when every one must know

That we are well-bred gentlefolks all of the modern time!

We all meet now at midnight's hour, and form a glitt'ring throng,

Where lovely angels walk quadrilles, and ne'er do l'Eté wrong,

Where Eastern scents all fresh and sweet, from Rowland's, float along,

And the name of a good old country-dance would sound like a Chinese gong
In the ears of well-bred gentlefolks all of the modern time!

Young ladies now of sage sixteen must give their friends a rout,

And teach the cook and housemaid how to "hand the things about ;"
And they must pull Ma's bedstead down, and hurry, scout, and flout,
To have a fine refreshment-room, and lay a supper out

Like well-bred, dashing gentlefolks all of the modern time!

And beardless boys, all brag and noise, must do "the thing that's right,"-
That is,—they'll drink champagne and punch, and keep it up all night;
They'll shout and swear, till, sallying forth at peep of morning's light,
They knock down some old woman just to show how well they fight,
Like brave young English gentlemen all of the modern time!
At the good old hours of twelve and one our grandsires used to dine,
And quaff their horns of nut-brown ale, and eat roast-beef and chine;
But we must have our silver forks, ragouts, and foreign wine,
And not sit down till five or six if we mean to cut a shine,

Like dashing, well-bred gentlefolks all of the modern time!

Our daughters now at ten years old must learn to squall and strum,
And study shakes and quavers under Signor Fee-fo-fum ;

They'll play concertos, sing bravuras, rattle, scream, and thrum,

Till you almost wish that you were deaf, and they, poor things! were dumb;
But they must be like young gentlefolks all of the modern time!
Our sons must jabber Latin verbs, and talk of a Greek root,
Before they 've left off pinafores, cakes, lollipops, and fruit;
They all have splendid talents that the desk and bar will suit,
Each darling boy would scorn to be "a low mechanic brute;"
They must be well-bred college youths all of the modern time!
But bills will come at Christmas-tide, alas, alack-a-day !
The creditors may call again, "Papa 's not in the way;
"He's out of town; but, certainly, next week he'll call and pay;"
And then his name 's in the Gazette! and this I mean to say
Oft winds up many gentlefolks all of the modern time!