encouraged candour, and his children were as openhearted and minded as he was himself, so that the affair was soon communicated. And what, think you, the father did?-oppose his son's love!-not he; he took a wiser course, entered into his schemes, made calculations for him, in the most friendly manner, of expenses, in detail the youth never thought of, by the day, by the week, by the month, by the year. And all this was done during a walk they took together, when the father said they might as well go and look for a house for him and his wife to ⚫ live in. "Of course," said he, "you must choose one according to our calculations; and you will not think of entertaining, or even visiting your friends, A, B, C, D, &c., and I daresay you'll be very happy. Love, my dear boy, is every thing, though it be not handsomely lodged,"-and just then, in a narrow passage, that could neither be called street, lane, or avenue, the father suddenly stopped (not arrested by the perfumed air of Cupid's roses), in front of a low house, not remarkable for neatness, nor even cleanliness, but that the operation of the latter was going on. For there, at the door, was a laborious mother washing her two dirty children, paddling at her feet, and the end of a cradle just peeped in at the back-ground. "There, now, my dear boy," said he, "the rent of just such a house would exactly suit your means." "Don't say another word about the matter," said the shamed youth, "I see it won't do." And so they went homewards, and in the way took another lodging, the cold fit being pretty strong upon him—and he told me since that for a year or two, whilst he lived in really "single blessedness," he never saw a pretty face, that would otherwise have fascinated him, but he saw in the back-ground of the picture, the very scene his father had pointed out to him, and then involuntarily set himself running through the catalogue of items of daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly expenses, and at such times the two following lines of the modern poet were constantly ringing in his ears

"Love in a hut, with water and a crust,

Is-Love, forgive us !—cinders, ashes, dust."

Now, my dear, Eusebius, you will endeavour to deter your friend, the tourist youth, in what manner you please; but I will comply with your request as well as I can; for many years have passed since my travels, and I was robbed of my notes-and all my travel now is by the fireside, and all my speculation into it—and so was I employed when this letter of yours, with so strange a demand, reached me—and had far other thoughts and imaginations than of sitting down ⚫ to write an account of matters of fact, and they of times so long since gone. You, in your confabulations with me, fly off into all vagaries, and so will I, after your own fashion, tell you what waking dreams I was indulging, and what visions I saw in the hot coals, when you startled me by your pen and ink questions; and in faith I think they may not be unapt to the subject of your requests. I had looked till imagination centering sight, had subtracted all that could measure space. Fairer scenes than poets' "Fairy-Land" opened to the view; illumined palaces, gardens, terraces, and glistening rocks, and myriads of starlike happy beings wandering over regions brighter, infinitely brighter, than any this world's sun ever shone upon. Then the whole shook, and as with the sudden movement of a magic glass, there was a change, but it was perfect. I beheld the enchanted land of Ariosto, figures of larger size-knights and ladies, the cliff and tower of polished steel, and the great magician issuing from the gates, his shield uncovered. The coals again subside; they shake-instant is the change. I am inclosed in a theatre of caverns, receding into immense distances, and all illuminated as with ten thousand lamps. I was the happy Aladdin-suddenly there is a slight noise-it is the "Open Sesame !" the caverns grow darker, and in rush the "Forty Thieves." Is there no escape? The coals again shake-there is another and an awful change -there is a black incrustation around a horrid gulf, all red, with caverns and abysses, from whose depth shook forked flames, visions such as Dante saw, and drew in his Inferno; and over this fiery abyss was one, a huge figure foreshortened, falling headlong into the oven of perdition, and without, dimly seen, and partly in blue light, were

fiends or angels that had accompanied the condemned to the very verge, either to hurl him deeper, or to save. Another moment, and the gulf is closed, and over it were dark arches, in which were a few burning sticks, mere dots, and as it seemed over them the dim beings that could not enter the regions of fiery punishment; and I thought of a deluded people, vain prayers to saints, and priests and purgatory, the double, scarlet kingdoms of pope and popery, above and below-then, by easy transition, of Italy

and as if all the vision had been a preparation, and an omen, your letter, Eusebius, was put into my hands. And is not the vision in many respects descriptive of Italy? It is a land of a golden age, of fabled deities that walked the groves, and lingered about the fountains. The land of poetry, the brightest, ancient, and revered of noble souls, high action, and romance. But it has been sadly shaken -evil have been the changes, and worse they are. There are falsifying "Eustaces," and many more than "Forty Thieves;" a population of robbers or cheats, and, to wind up all, it is the fountain-head of superstition, where crimes multiply, for pardon is bought for money-of blasphemy and impiety, for popery reigns there. How like you the phillipic? I have heard more vehement from yourself, Eusebius, on the same subject. Yours has been the flash of indignant genius-mine is but a sketch from nature. Experto crede Roberto," It is a strange time, after the lapse of so many years, to call upon me for adventures; and I am almost tempted to answer in the words of the celebrated knife-grinder,

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Story, God bless you, I have none to tell, sir.”

But I will tell you, as well as I can remember, what I found Italy in the year 18-; and since you more particularly wish me to give an account of my falling in with the banditti in Calabria, I will begin with that adventure. In Italy it would be commonplace-here it may have some interest. At whatever inn you stop in Italy, you are sure to find a number of persons about it, wrapped up in brown cloaks, and half their faces hid, apparently mere idlers. These are, in general, either robbers or emissaries of rob

bers, who find out all it may be requisite for the fraternity to know about travellers, particularly their time of leaving and the road they are going.

It must be here observed, and the observation is to be remembered in all places during this narrative, that I speak of Italy many years ago. Things may be now on a better footing. It is to be hoped so. My friend and myself had arrived at Salerno, on our way to Pæstum, to visit the beautiful remains of ancient temples there. We had letters from a French gentleman with whom we happened to travel from Capua to Naples, to a friend resident near Salerno. We found him and another French gentleman, and his beautiful and agreeable daughter, and an Italian nobleman and his family, all resident together. I believe they were, for to us it was afterwards pretty clearly made out, under the surveillance of the police. They seemed under much restraint, perhaps fear would not be an improper term, and I have since thought they must at that time have been cognizant of, if not parties in some of the Carbonari plots, even then hatching. They were remarkably attentive to us, and did all they could to dissuade us from the attempt-recommending, if determined to go, that we should go by water. However, we still persisted, and left Salerno before dawn in a caleche, which held myself and friend, and the driver, as is customary with those carriages, was behind. We had proceeded some five or six miles, ere we came to that part of the road where most of the robberies take place, the very spot, I imagine, where Mr. and Mrs. Hunt were shot; and where a friend of mine, a year or two after, passing, saw a man lying across the road with his throat cut; on which occasion the driver whipped on, and could not be induced to stop. It was not light enough to allow me to give a description of the spot, and as it became lighter, I had little leisure or inclination for a survey. I perfectly recollect being in deep thought, with my eyes half closed, and my head upon my breast, shunning the cold, gray, comfortless look of the dawn, always disagreeable when the earth looks black; and, if inhabited, you could imagine the human race had retired to holes, for habitations were not distinguishable. It was after a sudden look at this discomfort, that I had again

bent down my head, and in fancy was calling up the brighter vision of home far away, and anticipating the pleasure of showing my portfolio of sketches to my eager friends, it was just at this moment the carriage stopped. I looked up, and at the same instant, there was a cry of many voices, the word I know not, but it sounded like "sdrucciate," and was quickly repeated-and at the same time I saw seven dark figures, one in front, and three on each side, and seven carbines all levelled at us in the caleche. It is very strange, but certain it is, that I felt no fear, and perfectly recollect the disagreeable sensation of rising, after long sitting in the cold, and did not make so much haste to move as the occasion required. My friend seemed equally insensible to danger, for as he alighted, in allusion to the banditti descending from the mountains, cried out to me with a facetious air, " Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ." When we were out of the carriage they crowded about us, and I think more very soon joined them. They instantly made us strip; and as we did not show much alacrity in the operation, they hastened it, sometimes by pulling roughly at our clothes, and then making a terrific noise, and threatening us with their carbines. I had a seal attached to my watch which I greatly valued, not for its intrinsic worth, but as a family relic. This I endeavoured to conceal, and put it as quietly as I could into the carriage, but in so doing, the noise of the chain and seals was heard by one of the banditti. He came up to me, first took the watch, and then very deliberately levelled his carbine close to my head. I was just going to rush in upon him, when the captain of the gang struck down the carbine and forbade him to do the deed. The man at once remonstrated with the captain, that I ought to be shot for the attempt at concealment, and again levelled his piece at me; the other promptly again struck down the carbine, and dragged the man away with him. This was a narrow escape. My coat, waistcoat, and pantaloons, were taken off and removed-a pair of laced boots were not so easily undone, and this delay seemed likely to produce some rough usage, but it was not so. My very shirt was taken from me, and in fact I had nothing whatever of my dress but a pair of half stockings and my hat.