him, had not put him out of the room and locked the door, only opening it to creep down stairs and escape from Nola for ever. He managed with some difficulty to get a place in a baroccino to Raniglia, and made the journey surrounded with empty wine-flasks, which required extreme care and a very leisurely pace, so that the distance, which was but eighteen miles, occupied nearly as many hours. It took him a full day to recruit at Raniglia, all the more since the rest of the journey must be made on foot. "I own, sir," said Mr. Joel, whom I now leave to speak for himself, "it was with a heavy heart I arose that morning and thought of what was before me. I had already gone through much fatigue and considerable illness, and I felt that if any mishap should befall me in that wild region, with its wild-looking, semi-savage inhabitants, the world would never hear more of me. It was a sad way to finish a life which had not been altogether unsuccessful, and I believe I shed tears as I fastened on my knapsack and prepared for the road. A pedlar kept me company for two miles, and I tried to induce him to go on the whole way with me to Catanzaro, but he pointed to his pack, and said, 'There are folk up there who help themselves too readily to such wares as I carry. I'd rather visit Catanzaro with an empty pack than a full one.' He was curious to learn what led me to visit the place, and I told him it was to see the fine mountain scenery and the great chestnut and cork woods of which I had heard so much. He only shook his head in reply. I don't know whether he disbelieved me, or whether he meant that the journey would scarce repay the fatigue. I arrived at Catanzaro about three in the afternoon. It was a blazing hot day-the very air seemed to sparkle with the fiery sun's rays, and the village, in regular Italian fashion, was on the very summit of a mountain, around which other mountains of far greater height were grouped in a circle. Every house was shut up, the whole population was in bed, and I had as much difficulty in getting admission to the inn as if I had come at midnight." I will not trouble my reader to follow Mr. Joel in his description of or comment upon Italian village life, nor ask him to listen to the somewhat lengthy dialogue that took place between him and the priest, a certain Don Lertoro, a most miserable, half-famished fellow, with the worst countenance imaginable, and a vein of ribaldry in his talk that, Mr. Joel declared, the most degraded creature might have been ashamed of. By an artful turn of the conversation, Joel led the priest to talk of the strangers who occasionally came up to visit the mountain, and at last made bold to ask, as though he had actually seen him, who was the large, strongboned man, with a rifle slung behind him? he did not look like a native of these parts. "Where did you meet him?" asked the priest with a furtive look. "About a mile from this," said Joel; "he was standing on the rock over the bridge as I crossed the torrent.' "Che Bestia!" muttered Don Lertoro, angrily; but whether the compliment was meant for Joel or the unknown did not appear. Unwilling to resume the theme, however, he affected to busy himself about getting some salad for supper, and left Joel to himself. While Joel sat ruminating, in part pleasantly, over the craft of his own address, and in part dubiously, thinking over Don Lertoro's exclamation, and wondering if the holy man really knew who the stranger was, the priest returned to announce the supper. By Joel's account, a great game of fence followed the meal, each pushing the other home with very searching inquiries, but Joel candidly declaring that the Don, shrewd as he was, had no chance with him, insomuch as that, while he completely baffled the other as to what led him there, how long he should remain, and where go to afterwards, he himself ascertained that the large, heavy-boned man with the rifle might usually be met every evening about sunset in the gorge coming down from St. Agata; in fact, there was a little fountain about three miles up the valley which was a favourite spot of his to eat his supper at-"a spot easily found," said the priest, "for there are four cypress-trees at it, and on the rock overhead you'll see a wooden cross, where a man was murdered once." This scarcely seemed to Joel's mind as a very appetizing element; but he said nothing, and went his way. As the day was drawing to a close, Mr. Joel set out for the fountain. The road, very beautiful and picturesque as it was, was eminently lonely. After leaving the village he never saw a human being; and though the evening was deliciously fine, and the wild flowers at either side scented the air, and a clear rivulet ran along the roadside with a pleasant murmur, there was that in the solitude and the silence, and the tall peaked mountains, lone and grim, that terrified and appalled him. Twice was he so overcome that he almost determined to turn back and abandon the expedition. Onward, however, he went, encouraging himself by many little flatteries and compliments to his own nature. How bold he was? how original! how unlike other money-lenders! what manifest greatness there must be somewhere in the temperament of one like him, who could thus leave home and country, security, and the watchful supervision of Scotland Yard, to come into the wild moun'tains of Calabria, just to gratify an intellectual craving! These thoughts carried him over miles of the way, and at last he came in sight of the four cypress-trees; and as he drew nigh, sure enough there was the little wooden cross standing out against the sky; and while he stopped to look at it, a loud voice, so loud as to make him start, shouted out, "Alto làwho are you?" "Scioccone!" cried the stranger; but whether the epithet was meant for Joel or the cure did not appear. A very long and close cross-examination ensued, in which Joel was obliged not merely to explain who he was, whence he came, and what he came for, but to narrate a variety of personal circumstances which at the time it seemed strange his majesty would care to listen to-such as the amount of money he had with him, how much more he had left behind at Naples, how he had no friends in that capital, nor any one like to interest themselves about him if he should get into trouble, or require to be assisted in any way. Apparently the king was satisfied with all his replies, for he finished by inviting him to partake of some supper with him; and, producing a small basket from under the brushwood, he drew forth a couple of fowls, some cheese, and a flask of wine. It was not till he had drunk up three large goblets of the wine that Joel found himself sufficiently courageous to be happy. At last, however, he grew easy, and even familiar, questioning his majesty about the sort of life he led, and asking how it was that he never fell into the hands of brigands. Mr. Joel looked about him on every side, but no one was to be seen. He crossed the road, and came back again, and for a moment he seemed to doubt whether it was not some trick of his own imagination suggested the cry, when it was repeated still louder; and now his eyes caught sight of a tall, high-crowned hat, rising above the rank grass, on a cliff over the road, the wearer being evidently lying Nothing could be more genial or gooddown on the sward. Joel had but time to humoured than the king; he was frankness remove his hat courteously, when the figure itself; he owned that his life might possibly sprang to his feet, and revealed the person of be better; that on the whole, his father conan immense man. He looked gigantic on the fessor was obliged to bear a good deal from spot he stood on, and with his stern, flushed him; and that all his actions were not in features, and enormous mustaches, turned strictest conformity with church discipline. fiercely upwards at the points, recalled to Mr. "You ought to marry again; I am perJoel the well-known print over his chimney-suaded, sir," said Joel, "it would be the best piece at home. "Where are you going?" cried thing you could do.” he, sternly. "I don't know," said the other, thought"Nowhere in particular, sir. Strolling to fully. "I have a matter of seven wives as it enjoy my cigar," replied Joel, trembling. is, and I don't want any more." "Wait a moment," said the other, and came clattering down the cliff; his rifle, his pistols, and his ammunition pouches making a terrific uproar as he came. "You came from Catanzaro-were there any gendarmes there when you left?" "None, sire: not one," said Joel, who was so overcome by the dignity of the gentleman that he forgot all his intended reserve. "No lies, no treachery, or, by the precious tears of the Madonna, I'll blow your brains out." "Your majesty may believe every word I utter in the length and breadth of the Peninsula; you have not a more devoted worshipper." "Did you see the priest Don Lertoro?" "Yes, sire; it was he told me where I should find your majesty, at the well, here, under the cypress-trees." "Ah! your majesty, I guess what you mean," said Joel, winking; "but that's not what I would suggest. I mean some strong political connection-some alliance with a royal house, Russian or Bavarian, if, indeed, Austrian were not possible." "On the whole," said Joel, "I found that he didn't much trust any one; he thought ill of Louis Napoleon, and called him some hard names; he was not over-complimentary to the Pope; and as for Garibaldi, he said they had once been thick as thieves, but of late they had seen little of each other, and, for his part, he was not sorry for it. All this time, sir," continued Joel, "his majesty was always fancying something or other that I wore or carried about me; first it was my watch, which I felt much honoured by his deigning to accept; then it was my shirt-studs, then my wrist buttons, then my tobacco-pouch, then my pipe, a very fine meerschaum, and at last, to my intense astonishment, my purse, whose contents he actually emptied on the table, and counted out before me, asking me if I had not any more about me, either in notes or bills, for it seemed a small sum for a 'Milordo,' so he called me, to travel with. "Whatever I had, however, he took ittook every carlino of it-saying, 'There's no getting any change up here-there are no bankers, my dear Signor Joel; but we'll meet at Naples one of these days, and set all these things to rights." "I suppose the wine must have been far stronger than I thought; perhaps, too, drinking it in the open air made it more heady; then the novelty of the situation had its effect -it's not every day that a man sits hob-nobbing with a king. Whatever the reason, I became confused and addled, and my mind wandered. I forgot where I was. I believe I sang something-I am not sure what-and the king sang, and then we both sang together; and at last he whistled with a silver callwhistle that he wore, and he gave me in charge to a fellow-a ragged rascally-looking dog he was-to take me back to Catanzaro; and the scoundrel, instead of doing so, led me off through the mountains for a day and a half, and dropped me at last at Reccone, a miserable village, without tasting food for twelve hours. He made me change clothes with him, too, and take his dirty rags, this goat-skin vest and the rest of it, instead of my new tweed suit; and then, sir, as we parted, he clapped me familiarly on the shoulder, and said, 'Mind me, amico mio, you're not to tell the padrone, when you see him, that I took your clothes from you, or he'll put a bullet through me. Mind that, or you'll have to settle your scores with one of my brothers.' "By the padrone you perhaps mean the king,' said I, haughtily. "King, if you like,' said he, grinning; 'we call him Ninco Nanco:' and now that they've shot Pilone, and taken Stoppa, there's not another brigand in the whole of Italy to compare with him.' Yes, sir, out came the horrid truth. It was Ninco Nanco, the greatest monster in the Abruzzi, I had mistaken for Victor Emmanuel. It was to him I had presented my watch, my photograph, my sealring, and my purse with forty-two napoleons. Dirty, ragged, wretched, in tatters, and famished, I crept on from village to village till I reached this place yesterday evening, only beseeching leave to be let lie down and die, for I II. By disputing I will never, To convince you, once endeavour. I will never contradict you. V. When your speeches are absurd, Will I ever tell before ye: VIII. Never more will I suppose You can taste my verse or prose. IX. You no more at me shall fret, While I teach and you forget. X. You shall never hear me thunder When you blunder on, and blunder. XI. Show your poverty of spirit, And in dress place all your merit; XII. Never will I give advice Till you please to ask me thrice: THE VISION OF DR. DONNE. [Izaak Walton, born at Stafford, 9th August, 1593; died at Winchester, 15th December, 1683. Some time a hosier in Fleet Street, London; a royalist, and after the battle of Worcester he rendered good service to Charles II. His works are: The Complete Angler, or Contemplative Man's Recreation; and The Lives of Dr. John Donne, Sir Henry Wotton, Richard Hooker, George Herbert; and Robert Sanderson. We quote from The Life of Dr. Donne.] At this time of Mr. Donne's and his wife's living in Sir Robert's house, the Lord Hay was, by King James, sent upon a glorious embassy to the then French king, Henry the Fourth; and Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to accompany him to the French court, and to be present at his audience there. And Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to solicit Mr. Donne to be his companion in that journey. And this desire was suddenly made known to his wife, who was then with child, and otherwise under so dangerous a habit of body as to her health, that she professed an unwillingness to allow him any absence from her; saying, "Her divining soul boded her some ill in his absence;" and therefore desired him not to leave her. This made Mr. Donne lay aside all thoughts of the journey, and really to resolve against it. But Sir Robert became restless in his persuasions for it, and Mr. Donne was so generous as to think he had sold his liberty when he received so many charitable kindnesses from him, and told his wife so; who did therefore, with an unwilling willingness, give a faint consent to the journey, which was proposed to be but for two months; for about that time they determined their return. Within a few days after this resolve the ambassador, Sir Robert, and Mr. Donne left London, and were the twelfth day got all safe to Paris. Two days after their arrival there, Mr. Donne was left alone in that room in which Sir Robert, and he, and some other friends, had dined together. To this place Sir Robert returned within half an hour; and as he left, so he found Mr. Donne alone; but in such an ecstacy, and so altered as to his looks, as amazed Sir Robert to behold him; insomuch that he earnestly desired Mr. Donne to declare what had befallen him in the short time of his absence. To which Mr. Donne was not able to make a present answer, but, after a long and perplexed pause, did at last say, "I have seen a dreadful vision since I saw you: I have seen my dear wife pass twice by me through this room, with her hair hanging about her shoulders, and a dead child in her arms: this I have seen since I saw you." To which Sir Robert replied, "Sure, sir, you have slept since I saw you; and this is the result of some melancholy dream, which I desire you to forget, for you are now awake." To which Mr. Donne's reply was: "I cannot be surer that I now live than that I have not slept since I saw you: and am as sure that at her second appearing she stopped and looked me in the face, and vanished." Rest and sleep had not altered Mr. Donne's opinion the next day; for he then affirmed this vision with a more deliberate, and so confirmed a confidence that he inclined Sir Robert to a faint belief that the vision was true. It is truly said that desire and doubt have no rest; and it proved so with Sir Robert; for he immediately sent a servant to Drewry House, with a charge to hasten back and bring him word whether Mrs. Donne were alive; and, if alive, in what condition she was as to her health. The twelfth day the messenger returned with this account: -That he found and left Mrs. Donne very sad and sick in her bed; and that, after a long and dangerous labour, she had been delivered of a dead child. And, upon examination, it proved to be the same day, and about the very hour, that Mr. Donne affirmed he saw her pass by him in his chamber. This is a relation that will beget some wonder, and it well may; for most of our world are at present possessed with an opinion that visions and miracles are ceased. And, though it is most certain that two lutes, being both strung and tuned to an equal pitch, and then one played upon, the other that is not touched, being laid upon a table at a fit distance, will -like an echo to a trumpet-warble a faint audible harmony in answer to the same tune; yet many will not believe there is any such thing as a sympathy of souls; and I am well pleased that every reader do enjoy his own opinion. But if the unbelieving will not allow the believing reader of this story a liberty to believe that it may be true, then I wish him to consider many wise men have believed that the ghost of Julius Cæsar did appear to Brutus, and that both St. Austin and Monica, his mother, had visions in order to his conversion. And though these and many others-too many to name-have but the authority of human story, yet the incredible reader may find in the sacred story (1 Sam. xxviii. 14), that Samuel did appear to Saul even after his death-whether really or not, I undertake not to determine. And Eliphaz, in the book of Job, says these words (iv. 13-16): "A spirit passed before my face; the hair of my head stood up; fear and trembling came upon me, and made all my bones to shake." Upon which words I will make no comment, but leave them to be considered by the incredulous reader; to whom I will also commend this following consideration: That there be many pious and learned men that believe our merciful God hath assigned to every man a particular guardian angel to be his constant monitor, and to attend him in all his dangers, both of body and soul. And the opinion that every man hath his particular angel may gain some authority by the relation of St. Peter's miraculous deliverance out of prison (Acts xii. 7-10, 13-15), not by many, but by one angel. And this belief may yet gain more credit by the reader's considering, that when Peter, after his enlargement, knocked at the door of Mary, the mother of John, and Rhode, the maidservant, being surprised with joy that Peter was there, did not let him in, but ran in haste and told the disciples, who were then and there met together, that Peter was at the door; and they, not believing it, said she was mad: yet, when she again affirmed it, though they then believed it not, yet they concluded, and said, "It is his angel.' More observations of this nature, and inferences from them, might be made to gain the relation a firmer belief; but I forbear, lest I, that intended to be but a relator, may be thought to be an engaged person for the proving what was related to me; and yet I think myself bound to declare that, though it was not told me by Mr. Donne hímself, it was told me-now long since-by a person of honour, and of such intimacy with him, that he knew more of the secrets of his soul than any person then living: and I think he told me the truth; for it was told with such circumstances, and such asseveration, that—to say nothing of my own thoughts-I verily believe he that told it me did himself believe it to be true. I forbear the reader's further trouble as to the relation and what concerns it, and will conclude mine with commending to his view a copy of verses given by Mr. Donne to his wife at the time he then parted from her. And I beg leave to tell that I have heard some critics, learned both in languages and poetry, say that none of the Greek or Latin poets did ever equal them : "A VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING TO MOURN. "As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, The breath goes now, and some say, No: "So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; "Twere profanation of our joys, To tell the laity our love. "Moving of th' earth, brings harms and fears: Whose soul is sense-cannot admit Care not hands, eyes, or lips to miss. "Our two souls, therefore, which are one,- "If we be two? we are two so As stiff twin-compasses are two: Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show To move, but does if th' other do. "And though thine in the centre sit, Yet, when my other far does roam, Thine leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect as mine comes home. "Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th' other foot, obliquely run: Thy firmness makes my circle just, And me to end where I begun." QUA CURSUM VENTUS. BY ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay Are scarce long leagues apart descried; When fell the night unsprung the breeze, And all the darkling hours they plied; Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas By each was cleaving, side by side: E'en so-but why the tale reveal At dead of night their sails were filled, |