along the plains of Lombardy. Will the reader pardon me if I relate one of my dreams? I have said that I had left at home a host of children, among whom was a charming little girl, six months old. There is no explaining the mechanism of fancy; but, after travelling long and far through the unreal world, I arrived at length at the garden of Jolimont, where I saw my baby smiling in her mother's arms. I stooped forward to kiss her; she playfully retreated. A second and a third trial were made. Being seated on the box beside the driver, I nearly, in my dreaming eagerness, precipitated myself forward upon the horses, and awoke with an instinctive effort to recover my position. The domes and towers of Milan just at that moment rose before me, bathed in the ruddy light of the dawn; and the rich verdure of the plains on all sides was glittering with dew. On the right, far in the distance, were the towering Alps, rosy with the sun's first rays, and piercing the blue sky with a thousand luminous pinnacles. Not even Austrian despotism can deprive the Lombards of the enjoyment of such moments, though the pleasure must be dashed by the consciousness that, whatever may be their physical enjoyments, they still are slaves.

whip, which he had just been purchasing. He looked at me with something like a scowl, and, saying a few words to her in German, from the tone of which I could not doubt she was his wife, walked off with her, though not before she had turned round and bowed to me twice.

It forms no part of my design to describe cities, This little dialogue took place in front of a shop, or churches, or palaces, or pictures. The guide-out of which an officer soon came, flourishing a new books do that. I went, of course, to the cathedral, and glanced over all its curiosities. But I find nothing about them in my memory, and therefore shall say nothing. I remember perfectly well that, on entering Lombardy, my passport was taken from me, and forwarded to Milan, where I was told it would be delivered to me on demand. There is, of course, no living in any Austrian city without a passport; so, the very first morning after my arrival, I had no sooner breakfasted than I sallied forth in search of the police-office, that I might obtain official permission to breathe the emperor's air. There are those among my countrymen who like well enough the present state of things, and fancy that Italy never was so happy as under the rule of the Teutonic barbarians. For myself, I sighed for the turbulent republics of the middle ages, and would rather have seen a capital in every village, and a frontier in every parish boundary, and men armed to the teeth defending them, than have witnessed the dead calm which, when I passed through it, was brooding over Lombardy. It was like the sleep of death.

As I was proceeding towards the police-office, I met, under the piazza opposite the cathedral, a lady, whose face immediately made me forget my errand. She was so fair and beautiful, I took her to be a daughter of the north, and could not resist the temptation to speak to her. So, stepping forward, and taking off my hat in the politest manner imaginable, I inquired, in English, the way to the policeoffice.

"Non capisco," was her reply.

I then apologized for addressing her in a foreign language, but said "I have mistaken you for an Englishwoman, you are so extremely beautiful."

I had, meanwhile, forgotten the police-office and the passport, which now, however, as the temptress was gone, speedily made their way back into my memory. When I reached the important premises, I was informed that, by some extraordinary accident, my passport was lost, or else had not been duly forwarded. In the mean time, however, 1 might remain at Milan, for visiting which I, of course, had particular motives. I admitted that I had motives, and that they were very particular, but declined explaining them till my passport should be found. It was quite immaterial. I was living under a paternal government, and would, doubtless, like to converse with one of my countrymen, who, as great good luck would have it, was then in the office. Though an Englishman does not travel to see Englishmen, I had no objection; and the wily agent of Prince Metternich was forthwith brought face to face with me. A man is never so bold or so politic as when he has nothing to fear or conceal; and the pains the worthy agent took to see further into the milestone than he who made it, amused me immensely. He was resolved to find out all about me, and I was resolved he should not; and so we went on for an hour, at least, thrusting, and parrying, and beating about the bush. Nothing more contemptible can be conceived than a government which experiences alarm at the passage of a humble foreigner through its dominions, who has no political mission, and who,

She

however crafty or Jesuitical he might be, could have spent the whole evening in conversing with really, in ninety cases out of a hundred, effect noth- her. Our dialogue, however, was soon intering. However defective our own institutions may rupted by Carlotta's being requested to sing. I be, they really deliver both us and our ministers hate singing in general, especially when a knot from suspicions so humiliating. A man in Great of women commence wailing, like so many lost Britain may come and go, and laugh and talk, and spirits, around a piano-forte; but when a woman declaim to his heart's content against anything and has a sweet voice, and knows how to use it, I everything, without exciting the slightest alarm. could listen to her forever. The pleasure of Freedom is our safety-valve, and we use it unspar- such moments is like few in this world, and comes ingly; but under Austrian rule, the clucking of a back again and again upon the memory in afterturkeycock would alarm the authorities. Metteryears, renewing the delight of the moment, and nich would have trembled in his palace, and the investing it with all those delicate touches of melemperor would have felt insecure, if I had been ancholy which cling to whatever we have enjoyed. suffered to pass through Lombardy without its hav- Carlotta, as she placed herself at the piano, threw ing been ascertained who I was, how many wives back her massive dark brown ringlets, and raisand children I had left behind me, what was my ing slightly her large eyes, paused for a moment, object in travelling, what means of subsistence I as if to collect and summon up her powers. possessed, and whether or not I meant, on my re- then sang. To describe my sensations while her turn, to parade my formidable beard and mustaches voice was pouring like nectar around me, would through the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom. Hav- be impossible. The notes seemed to descend like ing cherished, all my life, a contempt for grandees drops of melody into an ocean of sound, which who happen to have nothing but their position to rolled and reverberated with infinite undulations recommend them, I should have felt the greatest over the soul. Had she not been beautiful, and possible pleasure, could I by any means have ac- possessed a seraph's voice, it would have signicomplished it, in making Metternich and his em- fied little, as far as I was concerned. But when peror sleepless for a month. Unluckily, I was too all that is lovely in countenance or expression, unimportant for that, though they had, certainly, and all that is graceful in the female form, are the benefit of my best wishes. added to a voice of infinite richness, sweetness, and power, it would require a stoicism much more perfect than mine to remain indifferent. The Austrian lady whom I had met in the morning, observing how completely I was absorbed by Carlotta's singing, roused me from my reverie by inquiring how long I had been in Italy.

CHAPTER XII.-CARLOTTA.

"One day," I replied, as soon as I could collect my thoughts.

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"Before you have been many days," said she, you will be lost past recall. The women on this side of the Alps are sirens."

"And on the other too," I answered. "Well," she inquired, 66 are you not very much obliged to me for providing you with companions so agreeable as you appear to think Carlotta and her mother?"

Through some letters of recommendation I had brought with me, I was invited to a musical soirée, where the company was chiefly made up of Germans and French, with a slight sprinkling of English people and Italians. One of the first persons I noticed on entering was my female friend of the piazza, who introduced to me an Italian lady and her daughter, who, she said, were about to set out in a few days, by Veterino, for Genoa. Few faces could exceed in interest or beauty that of the young Italian lady. Strange to say, she was very fair, and possessed a pearly clearness of complexion not always found in fair women. Her eyes were of that amethystine blue which is of all colors the most beautiful. They seemed like little fragments of the sky, and had all its infinite depth and serenity. It was impossible to look at them without a certain fluttering of the heart. I preserved silence a little longer, perhaps, than was becoming; but at length observed that, as they were travelling towards Genoa, it would afford me very great pleasure to be permitted to accompany them. The mother replied, that nothing would be easier, as they did not in- At the table d'hote of the hotel where I lodged, tend taking all the carriage, but merely places for I met two officers of the Indian army, with whom, themselves. Having learned their address, and for various reasons, I fraternized at once. They that of the owner of the carriage, it was agreed gave me letters of introduction to friends at Genoa that I should call on them, and make my arrange- and Leghorn, and promised, if they ever met me ments, in the morning. I have a very foolish at Alexandria, as they fully expected, to ascend habit of being contented with one person at a the Nile in my company, at least as far as Thebes, time and, finding Carlotta (the only name by where they would turn off towards the Desert which, in these pages, I wish to designate her) and Cosseir. In company with these gentlemen, extremely agreeable, I forgot altogether the rest I strolled about the city, after having early secured of the company; and, had I been permitted, should my place in the carriage, and saw such curios

I professed myself to be infinitely indebted to her. We then entered into a long conversation on operas, music, the great singers we had both heard, and so on. She did not affect enthusiasm, but felt it, as I could easily perceive by the language she employed. I experienced no enthusiasm, and did not affect it; but confessed, rather than boasted, that certain singers and kinds of music had very great charms for me.

ities as Milan has to show-at least with one exception, "The Last Supper," by Leonardo da Vinci. I put off visiting this from hour to hour, and day to day; why, I know not, since, of all inanimate things, it was what I most wished to see in Milan. Perhaps Carlotta's fascinations had something to do with it

CHAPTER XIII.-DEPARTURE FROM MILAN.

one should never trust to appearances since he could talk like an angel, and had a mind so stored with knowledge, and was of a temper so finely balanced, that, before we had travelled far, I could hardly tell whether he or Carlotta was the more fascinating person of the two.

What I had first mistaken for heaviness in his eyes, was an expression of extreme serenity. If he had ever known the storms of the passions, At length we left Milan, early in the morning, Time, with his vast wings, had now lifted him the rich green plains being lighted up by a golden far above them, and placed him on that intellectautumnal sun. There were six persons in the ual eminence where, as Lucretius expresses it, carriage, an Italian gentleman, with his wife and": a man may look down upon humanity, toiling, daughter, Madame B, Carlotta, and myself. wandering, and fretting below." Strange to say, We were accompanied by another carriage, larger he had been in the army, where he had preserved, than our own, filled inside and out with Swiss, unabated, through many a campaign, his faith in who were proceeding to take service in the Nea- Providence, and his love of knowledge. Though politan army. With these riffraffs of the Alps he had married early in life, he had had but one was a German, who figures in "Margaret Ravens-child, whom he seemed to regard with extreme croft" under the name of Semler. We afterwards tenderness and affection. His wife was what the saw much of each other, but at starting had no French call une femme nulle; that is, a woman of further acquaintance than what one picks up at a no character at all. table d'hote, for we had dined together ever since my arrival at Milan.

itics; but, as conversation begot mutual confidence, we spoke out boldly on the affairs of Italy, both past and present. On my referring to Machiavelli, he smiled, and said, "I will tell you an anecdote, from which you may perceive how early in life I became attached to that great author. I received my education under the Jes

I never could pretend to understand the art of flirtation, and; on the present occasion, most satMadame B- was a woman of about thirty-isfactorily demonstrated my ignorance. Instead six, handsome, but hard-featured, who, having of taking advantage of my position to ingratiate neglected, apparently, to make the most of her myself with Carlotta, as any man of the world beauty when young, was now determined to make would have done, I entered into a discussion with up for it as fast as possible. She flirted indiffer- Signor Castrucci on the character and writings of ently with everybody; but got out of temper, and | Machiavelli. At first, considering in what counlooked as fierce as a basilisk the moment one try we were travelling, he sedulously avoided polspoke to her daughter, whose person she seemed to look upon as nothing but a cage for her voice. At first she placed herself in the middle, between me and Carlotta, with whom, therefore, I had to speak, when I spoke to her at all, across her mamma, which was very awkward. But as the day grew hotter, Madame B's regard for her own comfort overcame all other considerations,uits, who, as you know, watch over their pupils and she asked me as a favor to change places with her, as she wished to sit near the window for the sake of the air. I would have consented to sit in an oven, to oblige her; and, indeed, for some hours during the middle of the day, I might as well have baked myself with Monsieur Cabot, as have sat where I did, scorched internally by the fire of Carlotta's eyes, and externally melted by the sun.

The Italian patriarch, who sat opposite, was far more comfortable, because he had no flesh to lose, being little better than a walking anatomy. The sun and atmosphere had done their worst upon him. Brown as a mummy, with large, heavy, dark eyes, high cheek-bones, and a mouth of enormous capacity, he had very much the air of a scarecrow.

with the utmost strictness, allowing them to read no books but such as they themselves put into their hands. I had an uncle in the town, close to which our college was situated; and I was sometimes permitted to visit him. There, one day, on a window-seat, I found a volume of Machiavelli's works, in which I immediately became interested. My uncle gave me the whole set, but cautioned me against carrying it to the college, since he assured me my preceptors would certainly take it away. 'I'll tell you,' said he, what you shall do-you must have it bound like the mass-book, and take it with you occasionally to church. It will then be mistaken for a help to devotion; and while they are engaged in their unintelligible rhapsodies, or useless ceremonies, you can improve your mind.'

6

His wife had been handsome in her time; and "Of course, I carefully followed this advice, the daughter was so still, though she had reached, and read the works of the greatest of Italian in single blessedness, the alarming age of two-writers over and over, till I became familiar with and-twenty, after which a woman regards her them all. One day, however, as one of the holy chances of felicity gone in Italy. As papa formed my vis-a-vis, I could not, ugly as he was, avoid entering occasionally into conversation with him. He illustrated strikingly the common adage, that

fathers was preaching on the Chinese mission, I happened to open my favorite volume at the commencement of the marriage of Belfregor, the caustic wit and dry humor of which pleased me

so much that I forgot where I was, and smiled great a man's life so little, comparatively, should again and again with delight. be known."

Signora," replied Castrucci, "the lives of the greatest men the world has ever produced have been obscure, like his. We see the effects their genius produced, but are unable to measure the productive force; just as, in our own country, we behold a mountain thrown up into the air by volcanic agency, but never perceive the power at work."

"An honest Jesuit, who observed my merriment, thought it could hardly be excited by a book of devotion, and, approaching me stealthily, like a cat, looked over my shoulder, and discovered the horrid truth. Then, stretching forth his long, bony hand, he seized upon the volume, as an eagle pounces upon a hare, and, thrusting it into his bosom, cast on me a menacing look, and returned to his place in the choir. Up to "I have read the history of Florence," obthat moment I had been intended for the ecclesi- served Carlotta, "and what remains of the letters astical profession; but, while my heart was boil--but should like to know much more of the man ing with indignation, I made up my mind, and, who wrote them." walking out of the church, went straight to my uncle's; and never entered the Jesuits' college again.

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Love, I acknowledge, had something to do with my resolution. My uncle had a very charming daughter," said he, smiling, and turning towards his wife, who returned the smile; "and proposing for her hand, my offer was accepted, though the marriage was postponed for some time. Meanwhile, I entered the army, where I have risen to the rank of General. In due time I married; and you perceive," added he, turning to his wife, and then to his daughter, "the whole of my family."

"You are more obliged to Machiavelli," I observed, "than most persons. Through his aid you have escaped celibacy, and risen to honor and distinction."

Signor Castrucci bowed.

"And now," I inquired, looking back from this distance of time, do you think that the notions you entertained of the Florentine statesman in your youth were correct?"

Machiavelli," he replied, "was essentially a revolutionary writer; he despised all the established governments of his time, and labored earnestly to subvert them by propagating those principles of expediency which render men indifferent respecting the means they employ to accomplish their ends; he esteemed liberty the greatest good that men can enjoy, and thought them justified in wading to it through seas of blood. The princes and rulers of his time set no value on human life, which they sacrificed in all ways to gratify their most despicable caprices. He therefore counselled the people to follow their example, and labored all his life to undermine the sentiment of respect for greatness which is one of the most fatal weaknesses incident to human nature. To dissipate this feeling, he dwells on the crimes and follies of kings and princes, and seeks to overwhelm them beneath a load of contempt. No man can rise from the perusal of Machiavelli with the same sentiment of loyalty with which he commenced it. His attack is conducted in the most insidious manner, for he often praises what he wishes you to hate; but is careful that his praise should be calculated to provoke your detestation."

We now entered into a literary conversation, in which Carlotta's mother, a woman of considerable knowledge, joined occasionally. To my great surprise, I found that the daughter had read extensively, was acquainted with Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Tasso, and Metastasio—the last more especially-and could dissertate upon poetry and music like a professor. With all this, her manner was the most modest, gentle, and unassuming that could be conceived. She had, literally, no vanity, or concealed it with so exquisite an art that she might as well have been without it.

CHAPTER XIV. THE CHURCH OF CERTOSA.

Late in the afternoon we turned off from the high road, to visit the conventual church of Certosa, the interior of which we found to be one blaze of rich ornaments. Few things in a woman are so beautiful as the feeling of devotion. Carlotta, I found, was overflowing with it. As we approached the church, through an avenue of noble trees, her manner, always modest and subdued, became much more strikingly so. Her voice sank to a lower key; her animal spirits were hushed; and her large blue eyes appeared to grow moist with delight. "How pleasant it is," said she to me, in a low, sweet voice, "to enter the house of God! See, from the walls yonder, how the Holy Virgin smiles upon us! Ah! what rich tints tremble and glitter on the pavement! Must not heaven be something like this?"

And whatever we, here in the North, may say, there is certainly something in the architecture, ornaments, and brilliant light of southern churches that kindles irresistibly the spirit of joy. The gloomy aisles, aspiring arches, fretted roofs, long casements, and profusion of shadow, in a Gothic edifice, may produce a more powerful effect on our imagination, but it is not enlivening. On the contrary, it is akin to sorrow; and as our climate itself is depressing, we experience, in their fullest force, all those melancholy influences which tend to impart a sombre aspect to religion. We surround our sacred buildings with groves of yewtrees, and, in the country, permit gray and yellow lichens to spread themselves over the wallsgreen damps and immense patches disfigure the interior, and irresistibly lead us to associate hu"Strange," interposed Carlotta, "that of so midity and darkness with everything beyond the

grave. In Italy the reverse is the case. Marble certain ancient Chinese vases, only showed more floors, richly painted windows, magnificent altars, clearly the monsters painted on them as they were pictures, statues, columns, gilding, and whatever the more completely filled with wine. I am, is bright and beautiful-the whole penetrated and upon the whole, extremely tolerant; but the conalmost rendered transparent by light-surround versation of Swiss and Germans after dinner was you on all sides, and produce a peculiar effect on too much for my equanimity. As they drank, your fancy. You do not need to mount in search they became communicative, and were so overof the skies a little compartment of heaven seems powering in their confidence, that I soon proposed to have descended for your use, and a holy atmos- to the Hanoverian to take a walk with me in the phere murmurs and breathes around you. city. However, we were not destined so to esFamiliarity does not always breed contempt. cape, for our jovial friends no sooner discovered Madame B. put more confidence in me as our ac- our design than they abandoned their cups to acquaintance proceeded, allowed her daughter to take company us. I sent them for the moment to the my arm, while she took the other, and conversed warmest of all latitudes-that is to say, interwith me freely as we walked through the church.nally; common decency compelled me to appear They forgot I was a heretic, and consequently flattered by what they really intended as a comgave full vent to those rapturous feelings which pliment. So forth we went, with abundance of devout Catholics experience from time to time. Religion, in some persons, is an instinct-finest in the finest organizations. The soul, in such cases, seems to be an instrument so exquisite, and of so vast a compass, that it cannot yield forth all its music when played upon by anything but heaven. Carlotta's soul was one of these. Her exquisite sensibility, her fervid imagination, her impassioned heart, rendered her susceptible to the most delicate influences; so that religion easily became a want of her nature.

She invited me to kneel with her while she said her prayers. At that instant, from a gallery far above, we heard a burst of music, and numerous voices of women, chanting the "Agnus Dei." And oh, the effect of music at such a moment! Angelic voices appeared to be hymning their Creator in the courts above. The sounds descended upon us like showers of delight; and the Lamb of God, and the Virgin, floated softly through the incensed atmosphere. Carlotta placed one of her hands on mine; the other was pressed on her bosom. We did not speak. It was a moment of more than earthly pleasure; and when the hymn had been chanted we rose from our knees, walked forth from the church, and returned to the carriage in perfect silence. But, through that silence, what celestial melodies appeared to roll! The soul was full of music, and therefore the ear needed none. Such was my brief visit to the church of Certosa.

cursing and swearing, and considerably worse occasionally, to see the churches of Pavia. In one of these Semler and I managed to lose ourselves, or rather our companions, by slipping softly out at a side door, and plunging down the first dusky lane we could see, which fortunately led us out upon the banks of the Ticino, near the old-fashioned, picturesque, covered bridge. It may argue little taste in me to admire so strange and grotesque a structure, but I plead guilty, nevertheless, and acknowledge that I experienced considerable pleasure in walking through that long wooden gallery, strongly roofed over, and affording, through spacious openings on either side, magnificent views of the broad waters of the Ticino, fringed with shrubs and low trees, then beginning to be painted with the rich hues of autumn.

Every person, perhaps, has a favorite season of the year-some preferring the summer, others the spring, others winter, and others, like myself, the golden autumn. The zest of our pleasures is heightened by an infusion of melancholy. Few things are more melancholy than music-none so melancholy as love, which is, in fact, nothing but the consciousness of a desire never to be wholly gratified here below. Love is the yearning of the soul after the beautiful, which is but another expression for the infinite. Doubtless the fresh green of spring, when the trees stand in genteel We now pressed on with unusual speed towards half-dress before the modest sun, is highly refreshPavia, where we arrived in time for a late dinner. ing to the mind as well as to the eye. But autumn Here we lost sight, suddenly, of Signor Castrucci comes to us, decked in a thousand colors, painted, and his family. We took no leave of each other. partly, by the hand of decay. It is beauty on the He disappeared in the inn yard, hurried off, per- threshold of the tomb, rendered more beautiful and haps, by some friends, who would not allow him fascinating by the air breathing upon it from betime for the ordinary politenesses of travelling; or yond. We fancy we never discovered all its he may have lived at Pavia, and forgotten us in his loveliness till then. Death itself is marvellously eagerness to visit home. Carlotta and her mother beautiful, in its eternal silence and composure; it retired to dine in a private room; and I was left hints the mystery it dares not speak; it seems to with a rabble of Swiss, whose company would have have closed its eyes, only that it may indulge in been altogether insufferable but for the presence of delicious dreams forever. All realities seem nothmy friend Semler, whose kindness and generosity ing compared with the ideal creation which throngs of character I have endeavored to do justice to upon the soul in death. And autumn is the elsewhere. A good dinner is apt to soften the threshold of death-mature, soft, balmy, like the worst of tempers; it did so in the case of my thoughts of old age, illumined by the light of Swiss companions, whose minds, however, like heaven. For this reason I love the autumn, and