peace. The gates were shut at seven o'clock, and we had a very narrow escape from being shut out all night on our return from a walk to Virgil's farm, which is three miles off. To this spot we walked again the next morning, and were amused by the interest the inhabitants take in the memory of their great poet. They point out the spot in a field where they say he was born. But it is certain that Virgil, although he loved the place as his native soil, and as possessing property there, yet never lived there. It has no one attraction to a poet. He wisely preferred the beautiful scenery and delicious climate of Naples for his residence. At Mantua there are two handsome ducal, or rather now royal, palaces, with fresco paintings by Julio Romano, and other eminent artists. One room, representing the fabulous battle of the Titans with the gods, is the grandest thing I ever beheld. Milton must, I think, have caught some of his images in the battle of the fallen angels from this picture. The vast limbs of the giants are exhibited in every variety of muscular action, whilst some are crushed by fragments of rocks, struggling and writhing in agony. A whimsical effect is produced by the shot-hole of a cannon ball, which shattered the arm of one of these Titans in the late siege, no vain rival of the thunderbolts which the painter has represented above.'

'Early the next morning we arrived at Pavia, left our horses to rest, and posted to the famous Chartreuse, which lies by the road-side, towards Milan. It is always described as the richest church in point of decoration, perhaps, in the world. Taking into account the beauty of the works of art, and the costliness of the materials which compose, rather than adorn it, it does, I believe, deserve that character. We were perfectly confounded with the prodigious display of exquisite sculpture and rich inlaid work of marble and precious stone. Wreaths of flowers, birds, and

other ornamental devices, are represented in native colours by pieces of marble, and of every species of stone which the lapidaries use. The size, the beauty, the variety, and the endless profusion of these materials, added to the taste and elegance with which the work is executed, deserve all that has been said, or can be said, in its praise. Some of the finest pictures have been taken by the French to enrich the Louvre, but they have abstained from pillaging the wealth which encrusts all the shrines and walls of the church. The large monastery to which it was attached, like all other establishments of the kind within the reach of French influence, has been suppressed, but the building still remains unoccupied, except by two monks, who attend to the service of the church. The foundation was of the most munificent kind. The apartments allotted to each monk were equal to a small house, with a garden and servants' rooms. I own that among the acts of the French in their conquered countries, this one of the suppression of monasteries always gave me pleasure. The institution is so burdensome and injurious, and yet so interwoven with the law and the religion of a country, that one can never hope to see it eradicated by regular means. It must be either a robber or a tyrant, or both, like our Henry, to do it. They talk of restoring religious orders again in Italy; but whatever they do, I believe the world is secure against the endowment of wealthy religious houses again. In Italy there is still a great spirit of devotion in their own way. One of the most striking peculiarities was the numerous paintings of saints and martyrs, in frescoes, by the roadside, and against houses in every village we passed through. Their climate admits of this exposure, and the execution is far superior to what would be seen in country places in any other part of the world. The churches, too, which are in 'catholic' countries open all day long, were never without people kneeling in profound devotion. One custom

they have, which might well be imitated by protestants, that of repairing to church to say their private prayers. Many people in passing will turn in for this purpose, and stay a few minutes on their knees, whether any service is going on or not.'

The descent from Mount Cenis to Sens-le-Bourg is not above an hour, trotting briskly the whole way, but Sens-leBourg itself is a very elevated situation. I think it was a continual descent for two days after that, winding down the valley to Montmeillan. This part of our journey was full of interest-a close narrow valley of such a length, each side of which seems insuperable, presenting all the varieties that a combination of forest and rock can produce, with a mountain stream that at length becomes a river, rolling down, sometimes on one side of the road, sometimes on the other. The whole is inhabited; there are houses even half-way up the mountain on each side, but the summits are frightful precipices, inhabited by wolves and bears. The bears are noxious only by eating the corn in summer, but the wolves often attack their cattle in the winter months. In this valley we see a good specimen of what is often described as Swiss husbandry, every little platform and shelving declivity cultivated with the nicest care, and the earth often supported by walls. It is part of the old Duchy of Savoy, and will, I hope, be again restored to the Sardinian family. Our mode of travelling, although we were in a hurry to get home, necessarily gave us plenty of time. The horses required three or four hours' rest, during which we rambled about the neighbourhood of the villages where we stopped, visited cottages and farm-houses, and conversed with the people. Their manners were very pleasing and cheerful, more civil, I think, than those of the country people on the Italian side of the Alps. But here, also, as well as in the other, the frequency of goître is shocking. One is apt to imagine that the regions of a

mountain climate would render the human form robust, and the constitution hardy, but the reverse is certainly the truth in the Alps. They are a diminutive, ill-formed race, and from the inquiries I made, I am inclined to think by no means healthy or long-lived.'

I close the notice of this tour with a specimen of playful humour-the whim of some mountain hour.

Extract from The Excursion.'

'Nor mountain scenes alone exalt the mind
To blissful musing, but such incidents
As mountain wanderers meet with oft beguile
Their weary steps, and whisper better things
Than from the craggy steep of Grindelwald,
Or Grimsel, can be gather'd. Such, I ween,
Befel me, as one day I walked alone
Part of the way from Zurich on to Zug.
'Twas a steep hill, and they had much to do
To drag the carriage--I went on before,
And presently, between the hazel boughs,
Bright colours caught my eye-ere long I found
It was a pedlar's tray, such as sometimes
One sees on turnpike roads in England-there
Emperors and kings with barking curs were mix'd,
And gaudy parrots, and a Sappho's head,
And an old cart-horse, lean as lean could be.

'A few steps more, and I was near the gate
At which the pedlar stopped, but he was stooping
To take his load of gewgaws up again;
Whilst two sweet children wistfully look'd on,
Eyeing the gorgeous medley. Little souls!
Their hearts went with him as he turn'd away
With all his treasure, and they felt a pang
As whilom Orpheus, at the parting look

Of lost Eurydice, or as some saint,

Whose slumbers angels bless and charm the sight
With smiles and radiant glory-straight he wakes,
And all the heavenly vision melts in air :

So stood these artless children hand in hand
With look of disappointment, as the man

Mov'd off: for he, forsooth, had asked too much
The father said, a prudent cottager,

Who leaned upon his spade, and stood awhile,
As if he, too, would fain have bought a toy
To deck his parlour mantel-piece. Then I,
Suspecting what had happened, stopped the pedlar,
And bade each bashful child chuse what it liked.
Scarce did they seem to understand my speech,
Because 'twas French: but signs are eloquent
When they interpret wishes; soon they saw
That I would undertake to pay the price,
And each pounced on a parrot. Happier they
Than when some connoisseur at picture sale
In Bond-street sees a Rembrandt or Vandyke
Going for a song, and to himself knock'd down,
Though Phillips lies his best, and buyers throng
The auction. Each then quickly turned, and said
In German patois what to me did sound
Melodious; for it spoke of gratitude,
And undissembled pleasure felt at heart.

'And long shall I remember those glad eyes
Which glisten'd as they spoke, now on the parrot,
Now upon me full-turned. And long, whene'er
A pedlar's tray shall pass me on the road,
By quick association I shall see

These happy children—and shall hear them lisp
Their patois, and their oft-repeated ‘dank.”

Within two months after Mr. Copleston's return

from the Continent, the headship of his college be